


The Candles or the Moon

by aelibia



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel
Genre: ADHD Character, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Humor, Attempt at a Likeable Proctor Quinlan, Author Horny for Comments, Awkward Romance, Background Paladin Brandis/Proctor Teagan, Background Relationships, Brandis is Wasteland Tequila Grandpa, Brief Female Sole Survivor/Knight Rhys, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Complicated Relationships, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Relationships Becoming Functional, Emmett the Cat (Fallout), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Slow Burn, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Found Family, Ghoul Politics, Happy Ending, Ideological Purity, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, My Husband Betas This, One Night Stands, Paladin Danse Needs a Drink, Past Female Sole Survivor/Captain Zao, Pining, Protectiveness, Referenced Drug Overdose, Religious Discussion, Religious Guilt, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Tags Contain Spoilers, The Slog, Younger Female Sole Survivor, no infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 100,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelibia/pseuds/aelibia
Summary: Vault 111 sole survivor Hadassah "Nora" Sarkissian has not been having a great life. The last time she got a soulmate, the world ended. And now that she has something of a second chance, it feels like the world wants to end all over again. Because the universe, in all of its unfeeling glory, has decided to give her a NEW soulmate: Arthur Maxson.
Relationships: Arthur Maxson/Female Sole Survivor, Captain Zao & Female Sole Survivor, Codsworth & Female Sole Survivor, Female Sole Survivor & X6-88, Paladin Brandis & Sole Survivor (Fallout), Paladin Danse & Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 210
Kudos: 77





	1. oh my god they were soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long ass Arthur Maxson/FSS soulmates AU. Marvel as I once again deconstruct the soulmates trope in ways that you did not ask for but which I shall provide. Know that the tags contain spoilers, but also other vital information. 
> 
> Get Up to Speed  
> 1\. FSS is Shaun's Aunt  
> 2\. Maxson and FSS are both very early 20s  
> 3\. We are not going to shit on Maxson here. But I do like the opportunity to pair him with someone just as young as he is so we can make great use of the Idiots in Love tag. The relationship will not be entirely functional at first but this is because of individual baggage, not them hating each other or being mean. They are Learning and maturing socially.  
> 4\. Don't read this if you hate Maxson or the BoS. Your opinions are Valid or whatever but I am in no way interested in your personal essay about why you hate either or both.  
> 5\. This is not a faithful canon adaptation of the game. Many things will diverge.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local protagonist wakes up from 200-year cryo sleep, has okay week all things considered

The universe loves a well-placed joke.

Current theories on the subject of soulmate bonds (as of the morning of October 23rd, 2077) stated that ultimately, any two people connected by a bond were joined at random. 

“Random” is something scientists say when they haven’t got around to figuring out The Real Answer and subsequently publishing The Real Answer in a journal. 

The psuchologists ( _not_ psychologists, thank you very much) felt rather miffed that _this_ was everyone’s biggest question; after all, they’d managed to demystify the _other_ major mysteries of soulbonding.

The bond itself, they said, functioned at least partially by chemical means. The very existence and overall success of prescription bond suppressants supported this theory. 

Other aspects of the soulmate experience, such as the location awareness, sensation sharing, discount mind reading, the Soul Splitting vs. Soul Affiliation debate (don’t ask), and the aforementioned who-got-who bits prompted dismissive hand waving and a well placed “well, some things weren’t meant to be understood” by serious people wearing lab coats. Of course, _after_ the question-asker left, the lab coats immediately returned to their research, determined to find answers.

But why would they want answers in the first place? For some, it was about control. The very idea that humanity did not control the entirety of their destiny _appalled_ the secular mind. If answers could be found, why could soulmate bonds not be a choice rather than chance? 

For a great deal of the religious types, they wanted to understand gods, whom they believed were the true origin of soulbonding. 

For the pharmaceutical industry, it was--completely and decisively--about finding newer and more interesting ways to make money off of people. 

But everyone was motivated by curiosity. Even the stricter religious sects, who believed the very _attempt_ at comprehending soulbonds to be sinful...wondered.

Wouldn’t you? 

* * *

On October 23rd of 2077, at 6:00 PM, psuchologist Michael Denuevo finished his dinner in the belly of Vault 111 and returned to his room for the evening. He rebooted his terminal and opened up the last file he’d been working on, the one containing all of his research (and the research of hundreds before him) on soulbonding. 

He’d been chosen by Vault-Tec to work in this vault to study the effect of cryosleep on soulbonds. Would they break? Would you know when it happened? And if they did break, what then? At least half of the residents here were soulbound, but only one couple were actually soulbound to one another. Vault-Tec had schemed for many years to ensure this statistically unusual--albeit statistically dubious--suburban concentration.

Michael spent many hours working with the vault’s programmer to set up all manner of sensors in the pods. The sensors would observe the bonding delta and alpha waves and then send the results to Michael’s terminal, where he could process the data with an analytical program. So far, all he had found was nothing. Soulbound people’s brains sent off a subtle but distinct sort of energy, even while suppressed, and none of the residents experienced change in this regard.

One pod, though, was particularly interesting. Hadassah Eleanor Sarkissian, female, age 21. He knew her better than he knew himself, at this point. She’d had quite the interesting career before the bombs hit, but the only thing Michael cared about was her bond data. Evidently, for reasons only speculated by the ones who’d collected data on her, she’d stopped taking her bond suppressants at age 14 and then experienced a connection at age 18. Behind the bond development curve by at least a decade.

Michael didn’t particularly care about her personal life, but her energy readings--now those were _fascinating._ Her soulmate had clearly survived the war in some capacity and was attempting to contact her; he could see it plain as day in the little real-time graph as its lines peaked over and over, the classic sign of a soulmate reaching out to nudge their other. 

Michael obsessed over this graph, ignoring the overseer when they poked their head in to suggest a game of cards with the security team. The _other_ frozen residents, as far as he was concerned, were control subjects whose bonds didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Why would they? 

Day after day, and year after year, their data would not change; he was almost certain. Their bonds had frozen as solid as their bodies. Their readings came back sluggish and predictable. Perhaps one day, a future vault psuchologist would unfreeze one or two just as an experiment to see if something changed. And so the other residents, he largely ignored. But Hadassah captivated him.

Over time, the soulmate kept up regular contact. Whoever this person was, Michael was impressed by their faithfulness. For the next sixty years, every Thursday at 7:00 PM sharp, the soulmate reached for Hadassah and Michael watched the numbers go absolutely hog wild for approximately an hour. Then, nothing for the next six days other than a random ping here and there. So, the soulmate knew she was there, but couldn’t get her precise location; cryo must have impacted the bond in a manner similar to sleep, then. 

Michael observed, collected data, analyzed, and recorded holotape after holotape. He did not make any friends over the following years, but he did make a baby. Admittedly, the baby only occurred because of vault stipulations that everyone procreate in order to keep the whole thing going. It wasn’t like they could interview external candidates anymore. 

When Michael died in 2127, his grandson Emilio took over as the vault’s lead (and only) psuchologist and proceeded in a similar manner. The regularity of Hadassah’s soulmate fascinated Emilio; though, unlike his predecessor, he himself was given to a bit of romance. Emilio referred to the soulmate as Mr. Bob, and said hello to the little spike on Hadassah’s graph every Thursday when it showed up. 

Emilio’s successor, one Zoe Denuevo, was the last psuchologist that Vault 111 ever had. In an unfortunate temporal coincidence, she occupied the vault when the mercenary Kellogg broke inside and murdered everyone. 

Well, _almost_ everyone.

Zoe barricaded herself in her ancestor Michael’s room. This was futile, and she would soon be dead, destined to become a bit of environmental storytelling for a future hero. But for the last few minutes of her life, Zoe watched the numbers, the data, Hadassah’s little graph on her screen. She was determined to go out doing what she loved. 

When the invaders opened up the pods, Zoe knew because she saw everyone’s bond wake up a little, their mysterious connections dancing pixelated across the screen. Hadassah’s chart flashed a sickening green error message; her energy signals had surged in spectacular fashion, confusing the analytical program for a moment before it corrected.

Unfortunately, Zoe was shot in the head before things got _really_ interesting. She did not see a second error message pop up a few minutes later when the invaders had returned to the surface. This error left the analyzer flummoxed. 

It could not analyze what was no longer there, see.

Dutifully, the mainframe continued organizing its data into neat files. It was simpler and less energy-intensive now that only two people were putting out energy to read, and one of them wasn’t even bonded. The other seemed to have no readings on their bond activity from either direction. Interesting. Rather, a human would have found it interesting. The program, named Steve by a particularly lonely previous Denuevo, did not indulge in things as carnal as interest.

Steve was the only entity who bore witness to the Really Interesting Thing. One April night in 2267, the line on Hadassah’s graph jumped again so intensely that Steve nearly suffered another error message, though he managed to pull his shit together at the last moment before the terminal crashed. 

And there it was. 

The very thing Michael and his progeny had hoped to find. For an entire year, _the_ mysterious secret behind the allocation of soulmate bonds sat completely exposed in charts and automated summaries on Michael Denuevo’s ancient terminal. 

Steve had no reaction to this revelation, of course. His job was to collect the data, analyze it, project it into forms easily presented in tedious slideshows, and sometimes to create executive summaries by inputting values into a pre-written form. His was not to ruminate over the social significance of soulbond data, not even game-changing revelations that boiled down to “well, it’s a lot simpler than we thought; a bit obvious, really, when you think about it.”

None of this really mattered, though. Because the day after the first anniversary of Kellogg’s most important errand, an irradiated cockroach chewed through the wires connecting Steve’s terminal to the power source. A month after that, a leak in the ceiling dripped enough contaminated water into Steve’s hardware to render any data collection from his memory a fool’s errand.

The universe thought this was _very_ funny. 

* * *

There was this _feeling_ you got, when you connected with your soulmate for the first time. 

Most people experienced the feeling as young children, or even as babies, and therefore didn’t remember it. Stories and songs described that first connection using sappy little metaphors about tributaries meeting rivers and shit.

Hadassah never felt her first initial connection, as was standard. The doctors identified her as soulbound shortly after birth and she’d immediately been administered suppressants. Her second connection hadn’t happened until just after she turned 19, and had come on rather slowly over the course of a month. Something to do with weaning herself off of the suppressants, she thought. Or perhaps it was easier because her soul was already familiar with its other, separated though they’d been for nearly two decades.

_This_ connection felt like being suplexed by Grognak the Barbarian.

“Manual override initiated...cryogenic stasis suspended…” a tinny voice droned on somewhere beyond the pod window.

She took her time stepping down into the fresh air, every tiny movement a struggle. Her body felt stiff and unyielding, and the clamor in her head overwhelmed her past the point of rational thought. The moment she was free of the metal coffin, Hadassah sank to the ground into a fetal position, pressing her temples hard against the tops of her knees.

The first time she’d regained consciousness in that pod, it hadn’t meant freedom. Instead, she watched a man and two hazmats steal Shaun and shoot Nate in the head. Her soulmate clamored in her head then as they did now, but before, the clamoring had a familiar sound. This soulmate was... _new._

She’d never heard of someone getting a second soulmate after losing the first. It just didn’t happen. Wasn’t done. Not a single one of the pamphlets handed over by her smiling school counselor mentioned it, and she rather thought they ought to’ve if they’d known. 

“Stop…let me _think._ ” 

Her new other paid no attention to this. You didn’t communicate to your mate with words, after all. Soulmates exchanged two types of information: sensation and location. In a neutral state, you knew about where your soulmate was, and you got a general idea how their day was going. You could also do what people called “reaching,” where you strengthened the connection through concentration, which gave you a clearer picture. On the other hand, you could dampen the connection through concentration as well. Useful if you wanted to hide or just be alone for a bit.

The resting intensity of the soulmate connection varied from bond to bond, but with practice you could control the information to a manageable amount without having to concentrate anymore; it became almost involuntary, like blinking. After all, you didn’t want to overwhelm the other person with constant reminders of your existence. 

_This_ asshole evidently skipped the bond etiquette classes. They reached out for Hadassah like a starving person encountering a fruit orchard: desperate, persistent, and so greedy they kept dropping what they had in their rush to get more. She could hardly make out what they were feeling beyond pure hysteria that felt as much like anguish as it did ecstacy.

She lifted her head and opened her eyes. Before, when the bond had been too _much_ (usually after a night of drinking by one or both of them) she’d fallen back on her suppression training. After she’d stopped taking the medicine, a mentor taught her a simple concentration technique for grounding oneself during a bond overload. It was necessary to bridge the gap between medication and total lack of control.

First, you notice something. Hadassah looked down at her body. The vault suit. _Blue, yellow, garish._ What sort of blue? _Like the sky at noon with no clouds, clear even of contrails._ And the yellow? _Like a ripe banana, a day before it spots._

Gradually, the clamoring faded to a reasonable hum, and Hadassah stood up on shaky legs. The soulmate thing was...well, that was world-changing, but that was no excuse for poor situational awareness. She’d deal with _them_ once she’d regained her bearings.

Around her, Vault 111 was still as a tomb. The only thing she could hear at all was a low hum; the sound and the remaining lights indicated that some power was online, though it looked dimmer than what she remembered coming in. Dropping into a crouch, she slipped behind one pod and made her way along the wall, listening intently for any sign of life. She desperately wanted to look into two pods in particular, but she was alone and weaponless in a potentially hostile area. 

A quick look down the hall revealed several of Vault-Tec’s _other_ inhabitants: three skeletons dressed in dusty Vault-Tec garb and two giant cockroaches. One of the cockroaches appeared to be glowing. Well, Hadassah thought, it seemed nature wasted no time in gleefully bastardizing all of god’s creatures in order to punish man for its nuclear-flavored hubris. Would the world above be just as uninviting? 

She darted across the hallway door to reach a low table on the other side and sighed at the 10 mm pistol there. Not a bad gun all things considered, but its previous owner clearly didn’t know how to clean a gun properly and the thing looked its age. Speaking of… She glanced at her Pip Boy. Ah. Two hundred ten years, then. Wonderful. Hadassah sighed, shoved her rising panic into a tiny box in the back of her mind for later processing, loaded the gun, and sent the cockroaches in the hallway to meet their maker.

The rest of the Vault she cleared of bugs in the same slow, methodical manner. Her skills lay in staying out of sight and taking down opponents as quickly and violently as possible. There were definitely days when she felt like doing the melee thing, but as romantic as hand to hand sounded, she was far too vain to risk her face against the wrong person with the right pointy object.

She got all the way to the Overseer’s office before she saw the body. Hadassah dropped to her knees beside it, gun in her left hand as she used the right to roll her sister over. A hollow feeling crept over her chest, and her mate, who’d thankfully calmed down some, reached out to her with some concern. She ignored the attempt and retreated further into the recesses of her own mind, where the presence couldn’t follow. 

One of the nice things about having Ruthie as a sister was-- _had_ been--the consistency. Where Hadassah was chaotic, impulsive, and hasty, Ruthie had been a dependable, regular presence. A measuring stick by which Hadassah assessed her own life. Even after Hadassah betrayed her, Ruthie had still hugged her sister after she’d finished crying. Forgiving and kind. Too soft for this new world, and not ruthless or tough enough to retrieve her stolen baby. 

Hadassah took a steadying breath, and then stood up to finish clearing the vault, because it had to be done. She went back to the room where Shaun had been taken and his father shot, and looked at Nate for a long time, because that had to be done, too. And _some_ one had to find the dormitories, strip a mattress of its sheet, and wrap Ruthie in it, because there was no one else to do it. Only when she finished did Hadassah sit and have a good cry. 

Her mate reached out again, questioning, and Hadassah rewarded them with a few moments of sustained contact before receding once more. So. Primary order of business: she’d have to get better at suppressing, and fast. 

Towards the end of...well, the world, she’d gotten in the bad habit of overindulging in the bond as a form of personal comfort. That had been dangerous enough given her former mate’s propensity for using the bond against her when he got in a nasty mood. But if she was about to ascend into a cockroach-eat-dog world up there, who knew what sort of crazy asshole her _new_ mate could be. Better they didn’t know how to find her. Better for her. Maybe even better for them.

Hadassah swept the vault for any remaining items of value. There wasn’t much, but the security skeletons had armor of some sort she could wear, and there’d been some extra 10mm ammo in a nightstand drawer of all things. She made one more pass to stare at Nate and the hole in his head, and to spend some time wallowing in regret next to Ruthie, and then there was nothing else to do but leave and see what happened next.

Hadassah stepped onto Vault 111’s hydraulic elevator, and rose up into the sun for the first time in two centuries.

* * *

  
  


At the edge of Sanctuary, Hadassah spent several minutes taking in the surreal picture of post-bomb suburban life. Her sister’s robot butler, looking pretty spry for 180 years past his warranty, pruned a dead tree against the backdrop of someone’s collapsed house. It would have made for a great modern art installation, thought Hadassah as she carefully made her way closer. 

Come see it now: _Where Our Priorities Lie: a Mixed-Media Exploration of Excess and Vanity in the Face of Nuclear Annihilation._ Totally worth the hundred-dollar ticket.

Codsworth dropped the hedge trimmers the moment he registered her presence. She held her hands out carefully, just in case the IFF had gone haywire in his old age.

“Oh, dear! Oh, my!” Codsworth’s eyestalks bobbed up and down with excitement. “Is that...my word, is that you, Miss Nora? Is it really you?”

Good enough. Hadassah walked the rest of the distance across the patchy grass and held out a hand, which Codsworth immediately latched onto with a pincer. Gentle and exact, the way he’d always been. 

“It’s me, Codsworth,” Hadassah said. “It’s really me.”

The old robot thrummed with excitement, the lenses on his eyes clicking as he took her all in. 

“Why, I can hardly believe it! It’s been--why, it’s been--and you don’t look like you’ve aged a day at all! Your hair is as lovely as ever! Oh, I--” He released her hand and floated from side to side. Had he been human, Hadassah thought he would be pacing and clutching at his head. “No matter, no matter. You must be absolutely _starving_ for a good meal, Miss Nora. Do come inside out of the, eh, radiation. Storm’s coming in from over the horizon.”

Codsworth gestured off to the south with one of his limbs, and sure enough an angry-looking sludge of clouds and wind was on its way. It reminded her of tornado weather from back home. Never a good thing.

“I’d love a snack, Codsworth. Lead on.”

* * *

Codsworth chattered away in her sister’s burned-out kitchen, providing an interesting running commentary on the timeline of events for the past two centuries. She managed to gather several important pieces of intel from his observations. First, there weren’t many people left and many of those who remained were either the nasty sort or the sad, malnourished sort. There were a couple established settlements but Codsworth hadn’t bothered visiting them. 

Second, the world outside was unevenly irradiated. Areas of stark uninhabitability jutted up against areas where nature optimistically attempted a rebound, so surviving _was_ possible if a bit dicey. Third, there were various groups in the Commonwealth attempting to establish and keep territories. 

This interested Hadassah most of all. Apparently in addition to raiders, there were also mercenary groups, something called super mutants that Codsworth knew very little about, and people who’d survived radiation only to develop severely damaged skin. The latter, he explained, were evidently somewhat despised among smoother-skinned folk. 

Hadassah noted he’d had yet to ask after her sister or brother-in-law. She said nothing, and figured they’d cross that bridge when they got to it. While he prattled on, Hadassah combed the place for anything interesting. So far, the only material possessions remaining were sentimental in value.

“Codsworth, are there any clothes? Vault-Tec blue isn’t really my color. Or anyone’s color.” 

Codsworth poked an eye stalk around the hallway corner. “Not in here, mum. Scavengers made off with quite a bit before I managed to regain control of the property. When the storm passes, perhaps you might patrol the cul de sac alongside me. I do believe there may be a few things in your size at poor Mrs. Okoye’s house.”

“The one at the end on this side of the street?” Hadassah gave up on prying anything out from behind the clothes dryer and walked back into the kitchen.

“The very same, my dear. It completely collapsed soon after the--well, the troubles, but the woman was terrified of spiders and kept her clothing in vacuum-sealed plastic when she wasn’t wearing it. Perhaps a few things made it after all these years.” Codsworth sat a plate and fork gently down onto the bar, the plate piled high with some manner of scrambled eggs. Hadassah gave him a questioning look.

“Where’d you find this? Is there still a market operational somewhere?” She took a bite. Same texture as chicken eggs, but a little gamier, like duck.

“Gathered some crow eggs this morning, mum,” Codsworth explained. “There hasn’t been a proper food market in Concord for years. Absolutely shameful. But the crows are always fluttering about, messing up the gardens with their infernal nests. Of course _they_ survived. Though…” The old robot paused, floating to the living room window in near silence. 

The glass was long gone, but it looked like someone, perhaps Codsworth himself, had replaced it with clear, thick plastic. She could see the dust still howling around in the storm. She could also see, perched on the mailbox and unnaturally still given the tempest whipping around it, a crow. 

Codsworth gestured towards it. “You see that one there?” Hadassah nodded. 

“I’ve an entire _Guide to Birds of the Commonwealth_ database loaded up in the old processor, and not one entry matches the likeness of that bird there,” Codsworth muttered. “If you’ll notice, mum, you’ll see a reddish, almost metallic sheen around their eyes that you won’t find on any other local crow species. Oh look, there’s another.”

Hadassah peered out through the plexiglass. Indeed, another crow had joined its companion on the mailbox. 

“You see those feathers?” Codsworth continued. “ _Perfectly_ preened. Over the years, the local flora and fauna have undergone various changes to account for the environmental _shift_ after the, eh--well, they’ve changed. The other crows look quite patchy, but the ones with the red ringed eyes always look perfect. Odd, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Hadassah said. “They’re very still, too.” Something pure animal in the back of her mind stiffened up in alarm.

“Codsworth?”

“Yes, mum?”

“How good is your aim?”

* * *

  
  


“Well now, I don’t believe I know of any species of bird with one of _those_ in its head.”

Codsworth gingerly poked the remains of the too-still crow, picked messily but expertly apart by his capable appendages. Hadassah was a crack shot with a pistol, but using Codsworth’s laser to avoid excess internal damage had been the correct choice. Ruthie would have thrown a fit if she knew her antique dining table was currently being used as a necropsy suite, but when life gave you spy birds, you made cyborg lemonade.

Hadassah held up the contents of the two crows’ heads, which looked an awful lot to her like tiny cameras attached to a mess of wire. 

“Guess you were right about them not being from around here, huh? How long have you seen these ones around?”

“About sixty years ago, I’d say,” Codsworth said. He began gathering the organic remains into a pile for disposal. At least, she hoped it was for disposal. Though if anyone could make Hellscape Crow Wellington and make it right, it was probably Codsworth.

“They mostly keep to themselves up on the hill by the vault entrance. This is the first time one of them has approached the house in such a manner.” The pile of crow bits made a moist sound as Codsworth piled them on a dustpan and chucked them out the kitchen window. Outside, the storm began to die down, the gales reducing from “severe, stay indoors” to “inconvenient for hat-wearers.”

Codsworth noticed as well, and cleared Hadassah’s plate.

“Shall we, mum?”

“We shall.” 

A burnt-out grill in the neighbor’s yard was the first stop. Underneath it, Hadassah had buried her supply cache on a whim two days before the bombs dropped. At the time, she’d done it for very different reasons than having irradiated scavengers in mind, but it was lucky all the same. Codsworth helped her unearth the soil until they reached the top of the cooler, and when she opened it all her belongings were still inside. 

It contained the following: five novels (paperback), six works of non-fiction (one of which was a post-apocalyptic wilderness survival guide rendered useless by the author’s assumption that all post-apocalyptic survivors were in possession of a working SUV and an anti-material rifle), a tool pouch (it was a fanny pack but she wouldn’t admit it), a Chinese stealth suit (from the sexy and fashionable Fall 2077 line), and an incendiary Zhu-Rong she’d named Gun (Hadassah knew she was not good at naming things and embraced this). Several boxes of ammo made up most of the rest of the space.

“Gracious,” Codsworth fussed over her shoulder. “When on earth did you find the time to hide all this?”

“Garden party a couple days before the you-know-whats. They were all shit-faced so I figured it was a good opportunity.” She checked Gun over. It looked to be in firing condition, though it was in desperate need of a good clean. The books she handed to Codsworth, who stowed them away in his face somewhere. The stealth suit still fit like a glove over her underwear, and she shucked herself out of the vault suit immediately, to Codsworth’s horror. 

Unfortunately, the stealth fields were entirely unoperational, which didn’t surprise her at all. This model of stealth suit was lightweight, less armored and more clothlike, and ran on solar power. It kept one hell of a charge, but not only had it been underground for two centuries, there also appeared to be radiation damage to the delicate fiber optic network running through the material. 

She put it on anyway, lowering the headpiece to sit around her neck like a cowl. Her old boots she directed Codsworth to stow away. If there was something she’d need more than ever in this brave new world, it was decent boots, and it wasn’t as though she would be wearing the stealth suit constantly.

Codsworth led the charge around the cul de sac. In spite of his designation as a robot butler, Nora was impressed at the violent manner in which he executed irradiated critters silly enough to exist in his general vicinity. When he’d finished hacking and burning his way through several generations of insects and small mammals, Hadassah added a few more things to her not-fanny pack that she thought might be useful in the future: a trench knife, some bar soap, and a metal water bottle. 

She also managed to dig out a few untouched bags of clothing. They weren’t really her style, but she had a feeling that being picky wasn’t going to be an option out there. Being vain about dressing like an old librarian probably didn’t matter in a world where you scrounged for sustenance daily.

Oh, and now she had a handful of bottle caps, which she added to Codsworth’s hoard he’d squirreled away in one of the neighbors’ root cellars. According to Codsworth, _that_ was the going currency these days, and he hung on to them for those times he had to replace his fuel cores.

Hadassah leaned back against the tree and took a moment for a really good sigh. All of this should have been completely overwhelming, she knew, but her primary emotion was relief. All of the problems, the danger, the intrigue, and the stress she’d felt before the bombs, before she’d gotten _involved,_ were gone. Now there was just a hollow sort of grief, and the feeling of emptiness waiting to be filled. 

The Pip Boy on her arm beckoned to her, and she spent a few minutes fiddling with the dials. There was at least one radio station, it seemed, operating out of something called Diamond City. The Radio DJ’s talents left something to be desired, but as she wasn’t in his studio doing a better job, she felt it petty to complain about the free entertainment. Distress signals dominated the rest of the operational frequencies, and she skipped through those quickly. It wouldn’t do to dwell on what she couldn’t fix.

On a whim, she turned the dial to a frequency she’d known quite intimately before the bombs. A familiar-sounding Chinese military distress signal blared out at her, and she held her breath for a few seconds as she listened. It had to be old, left to play by ghosts who were no longer able to shut off the alarm. There was no way anyone had survived, but maybe if she followed it--?

“There _is_ one other thing I ought to mention, Miss Nora,” Codsworth said. “We have some visitors up the road. Friendly--and that is something of a miracle in these times, might I add.”

Nora was hunched over cross-legged, examining the knife for blemishes. It was dull, but if she could find a decent whetstone… Out of nowhere, a large German shepherd bowled her over, licking her face and hands happily as she attempted to regain balance. 

“Ah yes,” Codsworth continued. “There’s one of them now.”

* * *

Preston Garvey and his little group of bedraggled survivors were practically poster children for a local community theater’s “After the Bombs” one-act. A dog, an old woman, a cheerful mechanic, a sad-looking couple, and a colonial tourist trap of a man squatted in the first house across the bridge. A regular traveling actors troupe.

Hadassah advanced slowly, letting Codsworth take point as he’d been the one to offer them use of the space. As he floated towards them, he filled Hadassah in on their story.

“Now, these refugees have been through quite a bit, mum, but I’ve been letting them stay here. They aren’t like those filthy raiders I have to run off the lawns occasionally. Call themselves the Minutemen; isn’t that quaint? Very nice people, though. Why, that one in the overalls there gave me quite the tune-up three days ago. Joints in the old tool appendages getting a bit rusty, see.” 

The man in the colonial garb raised a stiff hand in her direction, and she slowly raised both in return. This seemed to make him relax and he watched the rest of her approach with sharp eyes but lowered gun.

“Preston Garvey,” he said. “Commonwealth Minutemen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hadassah said. “My name is Hadassah, but you can call me Nora.” She held out her hand, and Preston shook it, smiling. 

“Likewise. This your Mr. Handy?”

“Codsworth is his own man now, you could say,” Hadassah said. She glanced over Preston’s shoulder at the rest of the group. They stood in a cluster underneath the garage overhang, timid and watchful. “He told me a little bit about you all. Welcome to the neighborhood, I guess. Sorry I don’t have some food to welcome you in.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Preston said. “Actually, I’d be happy to invite you over this evening. If you’re familiar with the area, I could really use some help establishing Sanctuary as a solid settlement.”

“That sounds simply _wonderful_ , Mr. Garvey,” Codsworth said. He rotated his appendages in a happy sort of way. “And once again, I shall offer up my services as cook. It’s a delight to be able to serve again.”

The remainder of the day passed quickly. Preston introduced her to the refugees. The sad couple were the Longs, mourning the death of their son. Sturges was overall-man. And the old woman was Mama Murphy, who clutched Hadassah’s hand and asked the younger woman to come talk to her later that evening. Once introductions were through, they went back into the house, visibly relieved that Hadassah’s arrival hadn’t ended in conflict.

While Codsworth scoured the woods for something to murder and flambé, Hadassah took Preston on a tour of the neighborhood. He was a pleasant, honest sort of person, and Hadassah found herself wanting to trust him in spite of the fact that they just met. At the end of the cul de sac, she paused for a moment, considering, and then made up her mind. If Codsworth liked him, so would she. Trusting too quickly sometimes got her in trouble, but there was absolutely nothing in Preston’s demeanor that set off her lizard brain.

“Come on,” she said. “I think I know of a place where you all can set up shop until you get your feet underneath you.”

She walked Preston up the hill, and he whistled at the sight of the imposing vault door.

“A vault, huh? I’d heard about this one, but everyone said it’d never been opened up. You lived here?”

“Eh, in a manner of speaking.” Hadassah hit the button in the security hut and motioned for Preston to follow her to the elevator.

* * *

She sat next to Preston in the Overseer’s office, both of them in folding chairs and sharing a bottle of Nuka Cola.

“Well,” Preston said. “Thank you for telling me. I would say I could hardly believe it, but this isn’t the first time I’ve heard of the horrible stuff Vault-Tec’s done to people.”

“Oh yeah?” Hadassah passed him the bottle. He’d taken the whole thing remarkably well, really. If there was one positive aspect of Vault-Tec’s fuckery, it was that you could apparently say any harebrained thing about vault life and people would just nod sympathetically. Cryo sleep? Yeah, that sucks. Cloning facility? Yeah, had a cousin that went through that once. Whole place run by evil talking ducks? Sure. Experimental mind control? That’s rough, buddy.

“Yeah.” Preston said, looking up at her from where he’d rested his arms on his knees. “It seems like all they were ever really good at is taking advantage of people.”

“And royally fucking up their experimental data,” Hadassah said, gesturing to the vault at large. Really, the lack of commitment to data storage was the worst part of all. What the hell had any of this been _for?_ Did Vault Tec think cryogenic stasis would be the hot new thing in the post apocalyptic world? How were they planning on building more cryo pods in a world with all the factories bombed to hell? _What about digital decay?_

She took Preston on the Grand Vault Tour, and he’d been appropriately solemn the entire time as he observed the dusty skeletons, the defunct terminals, and the former residents of Sanctuary Hills. He even rested a friendly hand on her shoulder when she paused the longest in front of Nate. Hadassah hadn’t said anything, but he still knew. And now here they were in front of her sister’s body, which she now noticed didn’t yet smell. She couldn’t have been dead for more than a day before Hadassah woke up. 

Her soulmate perked up like a pointer catching a scent as Hadassah sank into melancholy, and she realized she’d been slipping in her suppression again. She felt her mate’s frustration as the walls went back up, and offered them a token wisp of affection just for being there. They returned it exuberantly, and she spared a few brain cells wondering if this person was either starved of affection or chronically extroverted. 

Later, later, later. She’d deal with everything _later._

“So,” Hadassah said. “Here’s my idea. There’s not many of you to begin with, and only you to handle security. You can’t farm down here, so you’ll have to set up gardens outside, but this is a good place to establish a secure home base. There are Pip Boys on the other--on the bodies. If mine is still in good shape, theirs should be as well.”

Preston nodded slowly, taking this all in. “Makes sense. And if anything is wrong with them, Sturges could fix them right up. He’s worked with Vault-Tec equipment before.”

“Good, good,” she said. She opened up a documentation page on her Pip Boy. They were designed more with voice recording in mind, but she vastly preferred to write her ideas down. It wasn’t so bad typing one-handed once you got used to it. 

“So you could make sure your people are set up here,” Hadassah said, “and then gradually expand outward from there. You’d definitely need a good security team, if people are going to be in and out of the vault for things like farming. Ideally, I think you’d want to set up a permanent settlement above ground as well as below, and people who focused on the farming could stay aboveground during--hmm. You know, I don’t actually know that much about farming. I’m more the mechanical type.” 

“That sounds amazing!” 

She looked over at Preston, who grinned at her.

“Sorry if I seem worked up,” he said sheepishly. “It’s just that I’ve been watching this whole thing collapse for so long...you’re the first person I’ve met in a while who acts like they give a damn.”

“Jeez, it can’t be _that_ bad out there, right? Don’t humans usually help one another in times of crisis?”

“Maybe they should,” Preston said, shrugging, “but not a lot of folks out here are willing to help. Could be a culture thing, could be that when the bombs killed everyone they left lots of angry people behind. You’re prewar yourself. Were people more helpful back then?”

“Ah, yes, the Masshole genes. _They_ survived when everything else crumbled away.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, nothing. Uh, people used to make jokes about people from certain states. Massachusetts had this reputation for--anyway, I’m glad you think this could take off. There’s just one thing I’d ask for in return. A favor, really.”

“Anything, Nora.”

She smiled at Preston, feeling a ripple of warmth spread over her body. For her first venture into what looked and felt like hell compared to the world she left behind, she wasn’t doing too badly.

“I’d like to give these bodies a proper send-off. It would be kind of weird for people to live down here with my sister’s dead neighbors. Would you all help me with that?”

* * *

Of course he helped. And so did the others, save for Mama Murphy, though not for lack of the old woman trying. After some convincing, Hadassah stationed the old woman on top of the hill at the treeline to keep watch for trouble while everyone did the manual labor.

Everyone else set to work digging the grave. Though Hadassah would have liked to give everyone their own separate plot, it simply wasn’t practical given all the bodies that had to be buried and the number of living bodies available to provide labor. A mass grave made sense, and Hadassah knew that her distaste for the practice came down to cultural bias. A mass grave didn’t have to be a disrespectful thing if you did it “right,” she reasoned.

Over the next two days (two days of ignoring her mate’s signaling and two days of good meals prepared by Codsworth), the little band of survivors dug a massive hole along the trees and began the task of escorting the residents of Sanctuary Hills to their final destination. Meals were spent together, and usually ended up with Hadassah talking about her life, which fascinated the group to no end. 

Sturges wanted to hear more about her mechanical engineering education, while the rest were fascinated by stories of working cars, public gardens, and clean water coming from the taps. She did not mention the stealth suit or why she wore it, and no one asked.

Preston directed most of the labor efforts, and Hadassah noticed that so far he’d had everyone steer clear of two vault locations in particular. During one quiet moment, he took her aside and addressed the elephant in the room.

“Your sister and her husband,” he said. Beside her, Codsworth began to fidget at Hadassah’s clothing, smoothing imaginary wrinkles and straightening the color. “I know this is hard for you. If you want, I can help you put them in a different place. Back of their old house, maybe.”

“I--it just seems so selfish, when everyone else is getting put in that hole.” She looked down at her feet. The tears that she’d pushed down for two days came back in force, and before she knew it Preston was kneeling on the floor next to her--when had she fallen down?--rubbing comforting circles between her shoulders. In the black void of her sorrow, she felt the soulmate rub against her consciousness soothingly. 

“It’s not a bad thing to want something special for the people who meant most to you,” Preston said. “Come on, let’s go pick out a spot.”

She followed Preston in a dazed sort of way back up the elevator, riding along with Sturges and a fresh load of corpses, sans Pip Boys. Valuable as fabric must have been, the survivors left the suits on the owners’ bodies. Whether it was out of respect or caution (bright blue _really_ was a poor choice in survival situations), Hadassah felt a mixture of thankfulness and guilt.

She chose a spot right in the middle of her sister’s backyard. The three of them--Hadassah, Preston, and Codsworth--dug one more hole big enough for two. They took only one break (Codsworth continued alone during) and Hadassah told Preston about Shaun, how she’d seen him carried off by strangers while she did nothing but watch. And then there was nothing left but to retrieve Nate and Ruth Muñoz and send them off. 

“Mum,” Codsworth said quietly. It was just the two of them now--four of them?--as Preston had left after helping carry the bodies up and out. The sun set behind them and while it wasn’t the same skyline or even the right color as she was used to, there was a reassuring calm in the knowledge that even if everything else had changed, she could count on the sun to stay the same. Even if humans managed to bomb themselves out of existence, the sun would still rise and set on whatever was left behind.

“Yeah, Codsworth?” She reached for him, and Codsworth took her hand in a pincer.

“Well, I just want to say--have been wanting to say, rather…” He rotated in place gently, facing Hadassah and giving her all three eyes worth of his attention. “I’m ever so glad you’re here, Miss Nora. You can’t possibly know what it means to me that you’re still alive and well after all this time. Part of me knew when I saw you come up alone that the poor Muñoz family met with a terrible end down there. I haven’t even seen little Shaun, and I can’t bring myself to even mention his absence. What it could mean... I just didn’t want to believe it. I--I want to apologize, mum, for not addressing it sooner. It was impolite of me to focus on my own troubles when you were so clearly going through your own.”

Hadassah took a deep breath, trying and failing to stop the tears. A very logical, cynical part of herself sneered at the loss of water, but she’d always been a crybaby even at the best of times. She couldn’t _always_ shut down. Not this time. Not when Ruthie and Nate deserved so much more from her, deserved things she couldn’t give back, not anymore.

“Codsworth, there’s no need to apologize. I think we were both just avoiding the issue in our own ways, and--and, well, we’re here now.” She sniffed, and Codsworth produced a monogrammed hankie from the depths of his face, because _of course_ he had a monogrammed hankie.

“I’m glad you’re here too, Codsworth. I know we didn’t know each other long before everything, but I’d like to stick with you if that’s all right. Shaun was taken. Kidnapped. And I’m going to get him back. You can stay here with these people if you want, but if you’re up for it, I could use backup.”

If robots could puff up with pride, Codsworth would’ve done a wonderful job at it.

“Nothing would please me more than to assist you, mum. Lead on!”

* * *

Hadassah and Codsworth rejoined the group some time later, when twilight covered the Commonwealth--apparently that’s what people were calling it now--in a gentle pink haze. The vault was ready for sleeping in, Preston said, but Mama Murphy thought it’d be nice to have one last supper in the first house they’d occupied, as a sendoff of sorts.

Codsworth prepared the meal as usual, and Hadassah helped pass out the food. Once everyone had a plate, she scooted closer to Preston.

“Thanks for earlier,” Hadassah said. “That was real nice of you.”

Preston nodded. “It was the least I could do, for all of your help so far. Sturges thinks with a little work, he can get the place operational again. The appliances and things in the kitchen, the normal lights, and all that. Not the--uh.” He flushed, and Hadassah bumped his shoulder gently.

“I know, Preston. I’m not expecting to come back to Cryosleep Experiment Mark II or anything. But that sounds great. I bet you’ll get lots of people wanting to live here.”

“But you’ve got to be moving on, right? That’s what you’ve been wanting to say to me.” He didn’t sound bitter about it, just final.

“Yeah,” Hadassah said.

“Going to find Shaun?” 

“Yeah.”

“I understand.” He hesitated, glancing off at the others, and then looked Hadassah in the eye. “Listen, I respect that you’ve got to put finding your nephew first. But from what I’ve seen from you so far, you’ve got some real talent in leadership that we could really use. And this could keep being a place you could come back to, you know?”

Hadassah grinned. “Trying to conscript me into your Minutemen army?”

Preston returned the smile easily. “I was kind of hoping to promote you, actually. We need a General.”

“Wow, a commissioned rank and everything? You’re not gonna give me some kind of course to pass, are you? I should warn you I’m absolute dog shit at using energy weapons. Ballistics only for this girl. I do look good in dress uniform, though.”

Preston laughed, the sound catching the attention of the others. “All I have is a hat. But I get it, though. You have to do your thing and I won’t stop you. Just know that when you come back, well, I think you’d be perfect for the job.”

“What are my responsibilities and perks? Other than bossing you around endlessly, I mean. Yes, I’ve gone mad with power and I haven’t even signed the paperwork yet. I’ll have you spot-cleaning the latrines in no time, soldier.”

Marcy sighed and walked out of the house, Jun hot on her heels. Hadassah paid them no mind.

“Preston’s right,” Sturges chimed in. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. And it’s always nice to have another mechanically-minded person around.”

“Well,” Hadassah said, “it doesn’t _have_ to be goodbye.” _For now,_ she thought. Her occupation before the war had been military...sort of...but not leadership. She never felt comfortable in the spotlight, preferring to work for the shadows as a support member. As the most (and only) experienced member present, Preston was the best choice for general of this Minutemen group, but he clearly lacked confidence.

“What if I work as a field agent for now?” Hadassah offered. “You keep up the home front here, and while I’m looking for Shaun I’ll be on the lookout for any valuable intel to send back. Sturges, you could set something up to communicate with my Pip Boy, couldn’t you? I don’t know if the comm satellites are still working, but I’m sure we could at least use the internal transmitters. Boost them somehow?” 

Sturges hummed thoughtfully, his mind already miles away in Idea Land. Hadassah knew that look. No engineer came back from it empty-handed (even if the only thing they brought back was a serving of alcohol).

She turned to face Preston. “I’m good at doing sneaky stuff, Preston. Tell me what needs doing out there and I’ll see if I can get it done. Codsworth will be with me, too, so he can help.”

“Well, we could use more settlers to help, for one…”

“Done. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“But what I really need is some more Minutemen. No raider types. Just people who can handle a gun, follow basic orders, and want to help, you know?”

“Done again. I’ll send people this way if they look trustworthy. Once I figure out what that looks like nowadays.”

Preston practically vibrated with excitement. “Yes. Yes! Wow, this is all really comin’ together. Guess you were right about this place, Mama Murphy.”

The frail old woman sat in darkness in the corner of the room. Hadassah noticed over the past couple days that Mama had a habit of that, of quietly taking in the people around her. Some might have chalked it up to tired old bones, or senility, but Hadassah saw the sharpness in her eyes and knew better. 

They’d had a few conversations since Hadassah joined up. From what she gathered, Mama Murphy had been quite the brawler in her time, and these days she nursed one hell of a chem habit that powered a gift Mama called The Sight. Hadassah put the same amount of faith in it that she did most superstitious things--not much--but if nothing else it provided the illusion of control.

“Got any good visions for me, Mama?” Hadassah took Mama Murphy’s plate and stacked it with the others on the floor.

“No chems, Mama,” Preston reminded.

“Oh, Preston. The Sight got us all here, and if it’ll help our friend here then it’s worth the pain. Besides, kid, you’re too late. Way ahead of ya.” She waved an empty canister of Jet petulantly in Preston’s direction. Preston pursed his lips but didn’t say anything as he went back to finishing his dinner.

“Hadassah. Come here, kid. Sight’s got somethin’ for ya, oh, it sure does. Somethin’ real big.” 

Hadassah crouched down to get at eye level, her hands on Mama Murphy’s knees for support. “I can see it, girl. Your boy Shaun, he’s out there. But...first you have to go somewhere...a fish. A big, metal fish. Sleepin’ in the sea. Waitin’ for ya. And watch the skies while you go, kid. Somethin’s comin’ for ya, comin’ right out of the clouds to snatch you up. Can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad thing; might be yours to decide.” Mama Murphy sagged forward, caught by Hadassah’s steady hands. Hadassah pulled the lever on the recliner and supported Mama Murphy on the way down.

“Damn, kid. Never seen the Sight so interested in a person before.” Mama Murphy sagged back into the fabric, closing her eyes. Then she reopened one, catching Hadassah in a beady glare. “And don’t you go forgettin’ about your soulmate, kid. I know you’re pushin’ him out. I can feel it. But you don’t wanna end up soulsick out here, no, no. From one to another, you be careful out there, all right? Gonna just...take a little nap...right here…” 

And then she was out like a light, her light snores filling the quiet space. Preston and Sturges both gaped at the two women in open shock.

“Soulbound,” Preston breathed. “Mama Murphy was the only one I’d ever met. That’s something you don’t see every day out here. You gonna find him, too? Or her. Could be a her.”

Hadassah sighed, leaving Mama’s side and returning to Preston and Sturges’ spot on the floor. “It’s complicated,” Hadassah said after some consideration. “It’s not a priority for me.”

“A soulmate could change everything,” Sturges said. “I heard when two soulmates get together and balance out, you get, like, super powers or somethin’. Extra strong and smart. Thought maybe Mama’s Sight came from havin’ a soulmate back in her day.”

“Well, I don’t know about _that,_ ” Hadassah said, making a mental note to look into this later in case it wound up being a pervasive local myth, “but I did have a couple things I wanted to ask you about before I left…”

* * *

She left one of the bird-eye cameras with Sturges, who promised to take it apart. At a glance, he proclaimed it looked an awful lot like Institute handiwork. He and Preston filled her in on the details regarding the Institute, and it checked out with what Hadassah would expect of the post-apocalyptic world: shadowy science organization, evil robot makers, isolationists gone mad with power, the whole bit. 

She made a note of the Institute in her Pip Boy. The crows now seemed too suspicious to be a coincidence: the Institute, if they owned the crows, may have been behind the Vault 111 incident. 

Her second request to Sturges had to do with Codsworth. She dearly wanted the old robot to travel with her, but in spite of his previously established battle prowess, she thought he could use an upgrade or two. A few hours with Sturges the next day produced a more powerful laser and some spiky armor constructed from bits of collapsed house. It wasn’t sexy, but it would do for now.

She also left her Pip Boy’s communication codes with Sturges, confident he’d find a workaround eventually. She and Codsworth headed East; she planned to travel in more or less a slightly southeastern route, sticking as much as she could to the less developed areas. She had an idea what Mama’s sight might have meant by a metal fish, but to be sure she’d have to follow that Chinese distress signal she first heard underneath the cul de sac tree.

Codsworth pointed out an interesting stop along the route: an old robotics disposal ground used by the American military during and before the war. They decided to leave the sentry bot alone, but Hadassah and Codsworth spent a fruitful couple of hours adding further upgrades to Codsworth’s armor until they were both satisfied. With even more spikes and a flaming hot shishkebab mod, he was well on his way to looking like a proper death bot.

They were passing carefully north of the satellite station when Hadassah saw her first super mutant. She let out a quiet gasp and hunched down, activating her suit’s stealth shield on muscle memory even though all it did was let out a tired sputter.

“Are those,” Hadassah breathed, “the super mutant things you were talking about?”

“Oh yes, mum,” Codsworth whispered back. He’d sunk low to the ground in his approximation of a crouch. “Very nasty things. Don’t have even two brain cells to rub together, I’d wager. If you’ll notice the, eh, interior design, you’ll spot some of their previous victims. Quite a bloodthirsty lot. Nearly been bashed to pieces twice by these ones before I gave up coming here.”

“Any recommendations?”

“Stay quiet, and low to the ground. They do look rather invested in a meal at the center there, so there’s a rather good chance we can sneak along the northern border.”

He was right: most of the super mutants clustered on the ground level around what looked like a cow from hell, tearing off chunks and eating them enthusiastically. Slowly, she and Codsworth hugged the fenceline where the grass grew tallest, making their way steadily across. At the end was a small shack. Hadassah tilted her head, pausing.

“Do you hear beeping, Codsworth?”

“I daresay I do, mum. Shall we investigate?”

Hadassah looked back at the super mutants. They still appeared fully engaged in their vulgar errand, and she couldn’t see any lookouts on the walkways above the shack.

“I’m going to take a look real quick.”

She crept around to the front and slipped inside after picking the lock with one of her not-fanny pack tools. Inside was a body, skeletonized inside the remains of some sort of many-pocketed uniform. Beside the body sat a solar-powered military distress beacon, the source of the beeps. Hadassah clicked it off--no need to endanger any potential rescuers coming to investigate--and studied the corpse. It certainly wasn’t fresh, but it didn’t have the dry look that she’d seen on the other remains she assumed were ended at or around Armageddon. 

Inside the chest cavity, something bright caught her eye: holotags. She picked them up gently and crept back out of the cabin to where Codsworth waited. They traveled forward until Hadassah felt like she could relax, and then she examined the tags.

_Daniel Faris_

_FR-527FS_

_O+_

_Brotherhood of Steel-EC_

“Those aren’t American military issue, are they, mum?” Codsworth hovered over her shoulder.

“No, but they’re similar,” Hadassah said. She not-a-fanny-pocketed them and continued Eastward. At this rate they wouldn’t make it to the coastline before dark, but that wasn’t a problem at all. She happened to know of a lovely little place to stay, an old military recon bunker by the name of Theta (the military was also not good at naming things). It was highly secure, and the admin password was one that she knew well.

“Should have a cot in it for me and a nice place to power down for you. A working bathroom if we’re lucky. It wasn’t connected to the city water; it was compost. Would be nice to do my business in a civilized manner again.”

“Good idea, mum,” replied Codsworth. “I could freshen up, myself.”

Things were really turning out in her favor today.

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mail Terminal Kells KS-390LC_

_Priority Communication_

_Fr: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_To: Lancer-Captain Kells KS-390LC; Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR_

_She woke up this morning. I managed to sustain unhindered contact long enough to confirm her location in the Commonwealth on the map created by Recon Team Hoplite. The bond is centered on a location to the northwest of the settlement known as Diamond City. Given the unusual nature of the soulbond up to this point, I think we need to consider moving on the Commonwealth. Lack of recent communication from Recon Squad Gladius notwithstanding, the stakes are far too high to risk her safety by our caution._

_I’m moving up our departure to the Commonwealth as well as escalating the search for the soulmate to priority level Urgent. Captain, I need you to prepare the Prydwen for departure ASAP. Proctor, I need you to gather all available resources on local culture in the Commonwealth including soulmate and partnership traditions. I need both of you to coordinate the duty rosters to organize sweep and retrieve teams once we have a better idea of her location upon arrival._

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mail Terminal Maxson MX-001E_

_Fr: Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR_

_To: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_As you may be aware, Vault-Tec records recovered in the Capital Wasteland allude to a Vault 111 in the Commonwealth. This vault experimented with cryogenics and is known to be located northwest of downtown old Boston. Given that your soulmate, hitherto in a prolonged state of “sleep,” has only just now connected with you, there may be a connection between her sudden appearance near the location of the vault. It would certainly explain a great many things. I look forward to researching this matter in the future. Rest assured my scribes and I will toil endlessly in support of her rescue and safekeeping._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are going to do slow updates on account of this story being a Big Boi. Please prepare yourself accordingly.
> 
> Take Note: Emmett the Cat is the most important Brotherhood of Steel character in Fallout 4 and I am not accepting criticism on this at this time.
> 
> Take an Additional Note: I tend to be quite irreverent towards canon source material, mainly due to my time in the Naruto Trenches. I am not religious about canon and will be slow roasting it at 225 for six hours. If you are reading this and feel like I'm getting a canon detail Wrong, please know that that was a purposeful choice that I made, and also know that I don't need to be informed. This is fanfiction.
> 
> The Most Important Note: Because I am out of control, all of my chapter titles are based on Classical Vines. Bonus points if you let me know in the comments which ones I'm referencing.


	2. I won't hesitate, Brandis.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local protagonist initiates tedious worldbuilding, meets crazed old man hermit, brings literal child with her as traveling companion. Local Maxson updates angsty blog only he reads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love...LOVE Paladin Brandis
> 
> Tags updated to warn people of the presence of False Pavlova
> 
> This chapter features the Mourning Raider, a random event in Fallout 4 where you come across a raider burying their friend at a graveyard. Normally they immediately attack you. But this time...

“Not one more step, wastelander. You get any closer and I’ll--I’ll blow your damn head off!”

Things were _not_ turning out in Hadassah’s favor today. On average? Yes. She’d had much worse days. But average goodness hardly mattered when your head was about to get vaporized by a crazed old man in a tatty jumpsuit. Even if you won the lottery, had sex with all the people you dreamed of having sex with, and adopted one hundred cats, it was still a shit day if you died violently at the end of it.

“Whoa, whoa, hey there,” Hadassah cooed. She’d already dropped Gun on the floor, but the old man still hadn’t lowered his laser rifle. Codsworth, out of the old man’s sight, raised his laser questioningly and Hadassah gave the barest shake of her head. “I’m not here to hurt you, sir, I promise. I thought this place was empty.”

Red-rimmed eyes stared unblinking at her, garish on his sallow, sunken face. It was clear he’d been without a good wash in a while, and there was no telling how long he’d been in the bunker. A quiver wracking his body had her wondering if he hadn’t been drinking as well.

“You--you got past the locks on the terminal. No hacks. You used an administrative override! How did you--that terminal hasn’t had administrator access in two hundred years. Who the hell are you? Who sent you?” His uneven stance betrayed a slight weakness in his left foot, and Hadassah ran through a dozen ways she could tackle him under his sightline and have her knife in his belly. 

There was something about him, though. Something soft and warm underneath the intense fear. And it _was_ fear she saw, not belligerence. He didn’t want to kill her.

“I was-- _am_ familiar with the prewar military presence in this area. It’s a long story.”

“I don’t believe you.” He clicked the safety off. The low whine as the fusion cell transferred its power gave her goosebumps. But he wasn’t ready to shoot her, not yet. He wanted her to be friendly. He was desperate for it. A man with eyes like that hadn’t seen a friend in a damn long time. “What military presence? No, no, no, there hasn’t been a real military in the Commonwealth for ages, you’re--you’re lying!”

“I’ll prove it to you! In the bathroom, in the little mirror box above the sink, there’s a picture of a topless lady. On the back of it there’s a note that says “god is disappointed in you, Sam.”” The tip of the old man’s rifle lowered just slightly.

“And,” Hadassah gestured further into the bunker with her chin. “There’s probably a terminal around the corner there. If you got it to work, you were no doubt treated to Staff Sergeant Batbayar Khunbish’s lengthy reviews of his field rations. I thought they were pretty funny. He really missed his calling as a food columnist.”

The laser rifle now pointed at the floor. “That’s...all right, so you’ve been here before. How--but if you’re not here for me, then why are you here? What do you want with me?” 

“Nothing to do with you, I swear. I was going to stay the night here before heading on to the coast. I’m looking for an old friend there.”

“You weren’t...you weren’t looking for me? No one...no one came…” The hand not clutching his rifle went to his head and clung to thinning, greasy hair. “No one is ever coming for me, are they?” Next the rifle dropped to the floor with a clatter. 

When the man began to follow, Hadassah darted out and caught him, struggling to support his dead weight. Codsworth floated in at last, his pincered appendage helping steady her grip.

“My word, but that was a close call. I dare say this fellow has been through hell _and_ high water, mum.”

“You’re telling me,” Hadassah said with a grunt, heaving the dazed man over to the dirty cot against the wall. “Help me get him in bed. Why don’t you see if there’s anything in that first-aid kid over there?”

Miraculously, there was. Codsworth brought back a can of purified water and Hadassah instructed him to help the man drink. He hadn’t passed out, but appeared disoriented in a way that hinted at severe dehydration, malnutrition, mental instability, or some combination of the above. Thankfully his fighting spirit had passed over, and he accepted the water from Codsworth without a fight.

Hadassah tried the faucet, which still worked. She wasn’t surprised--the bunker ran on well water, and the nuclear generator still seemed operational--but after days of boiling smelly creek water in Sanctuary Hills the sight of a running sink gave her a thrill. She made a washrag out of a torn up shirt on the ground and stopped up the sink with another scrap, using some of her precious soap to make wash water. A bucket on the ground filled up nicely with some of the wash, and she carried the rest of it over to the cot. 

By the time she finished cleaning up his hair and face, he was alert enough to speak again.

“Is this real, or am I dying?” 

Hadassah smiled, meeting his eyes to show she was no threat. “For all I know, you _could_ be dying. But it has nothing to do with me. I’m certainly unworthy of giving anyone passage to the afterlife. Not the good one, anyway. If you believe in that sort of thing.”

The man let out a raspy chuckle that turned into a rattling cough. Hadassah leaned back until the spell passed.

“I’m Hadassah. You got a name, possibly-but-coincidentally-dying man?”

“Brandis. Ethan Brandis. Most people just call me Brandis. I used to be...well, it doesn’t matter now.” 

“If it doesn’t matter, why don’t you tell me anyway?” She drew the cloth over the back of his neck. He flinched away from the touch at first, and then gradually relaxed as she worked the suds in.

“You...you tell me something first.”

“All right. Ask away. Can I get under your jumpsuit, there?”

“Not without buying me a drink, you won’t.”

Hadassah laughed. “Jeez, I was waiting for that one. And hey, I already gave you some canned water. That’s gotta be an aphrodisiac around here.”

Brandis laughed. It was stronger this time. He reached for the zipper and lowered it to his waist with shaking hands. Dirt and stains covered the shirt underneath, and when she tossed the garment to Codsworth he immediately went for the bathroom, muttering about baking soda and lemon juice.

“You just watch yourself down there or my husband will have a thing or two to say to you.”

So she was really starting to like this Brandis guy. What was it with these nuclear war survivors and their down-home charm? First Preston and now Brandis. Maybe she was wrong about the Commonwealth being a hellscape. Maybe the whole place was filled with gentle, unthreatening men who offered pleasant company. Maybe her new soulmate was a big muscle boy smart enough to fix a porch but never too smart to win an argument with her: a manifestation of her darkest fantasies in flesh and bone.

“I’ll keep my hands where you can see them. So what do you want to know?”

He looked her in the eyes. Now that the desperation had left, his was a steady, intelligent regard.

“Why are you helping me? Nobody helps anybody out here. Not for free, anyway.”

Hadassah’s hands stilled. It _was_ a fair question. But the answer was rather simple, when she thought about it. She shrugged.

“You needed help. You were in a bad place and I was able to help, so I helped you.”

His stare persisted. “You couldn’t possibly be from around here, then. Nearly everyone I’ve met has tried to kill me and my team.”

“I’m from around here, but also not. Like I said before, it’s a long story.” She finished his chest and started in on his arms. Those fingernails were in dire need of a scrub. “What team?”

“You might not have heard of it. Brotherhood of Steel. Military organization. Used to be a paladin. Been gone for so long, they’ve probably already closed up my service record in the scrolls.”

Brotherhood of--? She reached into her pocket and pulled out the holotags. Brandis froze when he saw them.

“I found a body in the satellite yard to the west of here. Do you know someone named Daniel Faris?”

* * *

Codsworth placed two bowls of mystery stew in front of Hadassah and Brandis, who now looked significantly less like an insane bog man. The holotags had sent him into a crying fit, which set off another bout of coughing, and it had been another hour before he came back from whatever place his mind had started to wander. 

The interim lasted long enough for Hadassah and Codsworth to finish cleaning the rest of Brandis and put him in a spare shirt and pants from Sanctuary. It had also been long enough for her soulmate to _insist_ on bothering her four more times; she answered every reach with the mental equivalent of a light slap. 

The soulmate ignored her attempts to disengage. _Rude._ Intrusive. Not only that, but her lack of interest seemed to have the polar opposite of the desired effect: the soulmate merely doubled down on their efforts to reach her every time she spurned their advances. While she finished hanging up Brandis’s clothes to dry-- she had to pause here and there to focus on slapping the mate out of her mind--Codsworth had worked miracles with the local wildlife and his internal heating mechanisms. 

“You should write a post-apocalyptic cookbook, Codsworth. This is seriously good.” _And_ Codsworth had the foresight to bring dishes and cutlery from her sister’s house. She had half a mind to write a glorious review to whatever skeletons occupied the desks at RobCo.

Brandis agreed, holding up his bowl in a kind of culinary salute. “Best thing I’ve eaten in months, I must say.” His hands had steadied enough for him to eat on his own, but Hadassah watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye all the same. 

“I’m, uh, sorry you had to see all that,” he added. He hunched his shoulders inward towards his meal, his body angled slightly away from her now. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen another human. Longer still since I’ve seen the person who wore these tags.”

He’d placed the tags around his neck alongside his own. For safekeeping, he’d said.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” Hadassah said. “You should be proud of yourself for staying alive for three whole years on your own. That’s incredible. I don’t know if I could’ve done it. What were you doing here?”

“Recon work. There was a group rumored to be based in this area, a place called the Institute.”

Hadassah perked up. “I’ve heard of them. Some kind of super advanced evil scientist factory or something. They put cameras into some birds to spy on people. Weird shit.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. About the bird thing. Hadn’t heard that one. Doesn’t matter to me now, I suppose. Got ambushed by raiders not six hours after we dropped. Lost part of my team then, and it looks like I probably lost the rest in the time since. This was supposed to be our fallback point, and I...well, I’m the only one here. I’d always hoped at least one of them got away. Made it back to the Capital Wasteland, maybe. Deserted and started a family out here. Foolish of me.”

“It’s not foolish to hope. I can certainly relate to that.”

“So what about you? Were you telling me the truth earlier?” He gave her a shrewd look. Her first impulse was to take it all back, to take the out he offered and construct a better story about being a tech-savvy wastelander who’d scouted the bunker before he ever got there. It would probably be safer. But she’d always been a sucker for fragile people in need of emotional support, before being with her first soulmate had sucked out most of her empathy.

“I wasn’t lying. I worked a little with the military before the war. Before _the_ war. Before the bombs. I got roped into a Vault-Tec situation in the neighborhood back west past the satellites. Some sort of cryo experiment. Woke up 200 years later and here I am.”

A beat. “All right.” Brandis shrugged and resumed eating his stew.

“What, you believe me just like that? Are you running a fever?”

“It makes sense. The way you talk, the way you’re dressed. That pistol of yours. And definitely that stealth suit.” He eyed her carefully, but not with hostility. “Was it the American or Chinese military you worked for?”

So, he’d been a bit more observant than she’d given him credit for. _In for a penny…_

“Chinese. I was scouted at my college campus, sort of. I was involved with a lot of protests against the companies helping build weapons and stuff for the American war effort. A Chinese agent made contact with me and I started doing work for them. Infiltrating corporations through engineering internships. Poseidon Energy, Greentech, places like that who inevitably had horrible secret experiments going on in the basements. My handler would set stuff up, give me tasks, and I’d do them.” She watched his reaction carefully, but he seemed ambivalent towards the whole thing.

“I know quite a few folks in my old operation who’d be inclined to throw you out on your ass for admitting that. The Brotherhood was founded out of the old American military, you see. Deserters, really. But the Brotherhood also has a special hatred for prewar corporations. Blames them for what happened when it all hit the fan. You don’t have to worry about me though.” 

He sat down his empty bowl and thanked Codsworth when the robot took it away. “I don’t give much of a rat’s ass about holding grudges towards anybody anymore, much less towards ghosts. Spending three years in a hole gives you a lot of time to think. Get some perspective. Still, I wouldn’t go around admitting that to anyone before you really know them.”

“Bad blood still?”

“Bad blood, and some leftover American military security robots that would love to gun you down as the almighty Red Chinese if someone had it out for you and tipped them off.”

Well, that was a disturbing possibility. “Ah. Well, please don’t turn me in to the nearest Mr. Gutsy. I’d be most obliged.”

“If you’re going to twist my arm like that, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Codsworth cleaned the dishes, and then got to work tidying the rest of the space. No one asked him to, but Hadassah noticed that he tended to get thoughtful when he cleaned. A lot like her, really. She found cleaning an enjoyable, stress-relieving activity, a trait which all of her previous roommates had loved. 

Watching someone else clean was a _stress_ -provoking activity, however, so when Codsworth disappeared to the bathroom, she dug a broom out from underneath the wall shelving and began attacking a dust bunny with it. Brandis attempted to help until Hadassah banished him to the bed, insisting he rest. They made some small talk, but he mostly stayed quiet and watched her work, commenting here and there on the little bits of tech as she dusted them. When she finished, she joined him on the bed and yawned. 

“So is your soulmate somewhere nearby?”

The yawn ended abruptly in a strangled hack. “I, uh, what?”

“Don’t mean to sound like a creepy old man, but I’ve been watching you. You get that far-off look on your face every so often. Had that look on my own face often enough in my day. Are they with you? Are you balanced?”

Damn, this old man was sharp. That or she’d severely overestimated her skills in subtlety. 

“Um, no. They’re not with me. He’s not... _with_ me. I guess it’s a he? There was this old woman...I just met him. The mate. In my head, I just met him. He’s my second one. Had a different one before the war. New one when I woke up. I’m not--I’m not really sure what I’m going to do about it. Last soulmate was a bit of an asshole, though the entire situation we were in made it bad from the start. But I’m kind of trying to be my own person for once. Thought I’d try out being nice.”

Brandis’s eyebrows vanished into his unkempt hairline. “That’s a new one. Never heard of anyone getting a go-round soulmate.”

“Do you believe me?”

“You pulled my ass out of the abyss; least I could do is accept your hare-brained stories upfront. Now, I’m old and it’s way past my bedtime. How about we get some shut-eye and you can pull the other one tomorrow morning?”

* * *

Being around Brandis was refreshing, even though Hadassah was fairly certain he thought she was lying. But the thing that differentiated Brandis from her sister, from Nate, from her family, from her old soulmate, and from everyone else in her life, was that he didn’t seem to give a shit. As he’d put it himself, “the truth doesn’t matter; you’re either a tragic heroine and a good person or an absolute kook and a good person. Either way, a good person.”

She found herself strangely wistful when her time with him drew to a close the next morning. They took Codsworth’s breakfast in silence. His company brought her comfort, in spite of the short time she’d known him. But she had places to be, and old promises to keep. A nudge from her soulmate reminded her of one additional task to complete, and when Codsworth took her bowl she sat cross-legged on the bed.

It wasn’t proper meditation, not really. People called it that, but it was more about making a habit of grounding yourself and then sustaining that grounding over time in order to keep your soulmate connection healthy. Too much intensity for too long on one side or the other led to stress, chronic head pains, or even mental illness. Once she’d gone off the suppressants at fourteen, it took some time for her prewar soulmate connection to establish itself--and really, the timing of _that_ thing was a mystery all on its own--but it was her field mentor who’d taught her this particular trick.

Because you couldn’t just let it _all_ hang out. You had to be _stable._ Soulmate connections were inherently dangerous, Hadassah knew that much. Why would people go to all the trouble to control them, otherwise?

She began by noticing physical things in her immediate vicinity and focusing on their form, just like last time. Once you were in a place of calm, you could quiet the bond until barely a trickle was left. Hadassah knew personally what this felt like on the other end: at first it was like sleep, but then instead of the bond getting wispy and indistinct, the connection ended in a “wall.” 

You knew someone else was on the other side, and you could beat your figurative fists against the wall, but you could no longer give them a casual nudge any time the urge struck you. Locating your soulmate became nearly impossible, as your awareness of them broadened to a general area rather than a precise spot; again, like sleep, but with an air of finality to it.

Her soulmate did _not_ take kindly to this process. He jolted in surprise and then alarm the further away she retreated. Once her wall felt steady, he immediately set against it, testing the strength of her focus until she felt a headache forming behind her eyes. 

When he didn’t let up, she weakened her wall just enough to allow a solid connection again, which he clung to with relief...until she drew back again and reformed the wall, indicating to him that her retreat was intentional. Indignation replaced the alarm and he resumed his siege warfare more intensely than before. _Clingy little bastard_ , she thought.

“You were doing that last night,” Brandis said. When she opened her eyes she saw him sitting at the table, cleaning the laser rifle. “What are you doing?”

“Bond suppression,” Hadassah said. Brandis didn’t react--maybe people didn’t do that sort of thing anymore--and so she explained. “It’s a way to control the flow of information my soulmate gets about me. I can keep him from feeling me too much, or knowing where I am.”

“Don’t want him to find you?” A small piece of rifle rolled off and bounced along the floor. He swore and groped around for it under the table.

“Should I?”

“Most people do. If you turn out not to be a kook and that prewar ice box thing really did happen, then you should know things might be different now compared to prewar soulmate practices. The few people lucky enough to get bonded nowadays don’t do anything like shut one another out. You find each other, you stick together, you let everything pass between you. That’s the way he and I were.”

“You and your husband?” Hadassah glanced around the room for anything else she might have taken out of her pack. If she didn’t go soon, she might end up sticking around Brandis for good. No soulmate in here, folks, no kidnapped nephew or Institute. Just two crazy people and a robot, living a prepper’s dream life.

“Oh no, lost my soulmate as a teenager. Seamus and I got together the hard way. Awkward flirting and even more awkward sex. I, uh,” his fingers paused over the barrel of the gun. “Well, I suppose he thinks I’m dead now. They all must. Might be he’s even moved on.”

“You don’t _have_ to stay here, Brandis. You could come with me. I’m sure there’s someone out there with a long-distance...whatever people use these days. Phone or radio or whatever. Pigeon.” And truly, she wouldn’t mind if he took her up on it. She wasn’t the sort to offer companionship out of obligation or politeness, and Brandis probably needed the exercise.

But Brandis had hunched up defensively at her words. A shadow of the brittle old man from last night drew over him. “No, no, no, I--it’s been too long. I don’t think the Brotherhood would want to take me back, not like this. I’m no good to anyone the way I am now.”

She approached him slowly from the front, where he could see and not be startled. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he clung to it with the desperation of his terrible loneliness. “You were good to me. I’m glad I met you. I’m glad there’s still good people in the world.”

“Thank you. And thank you again for the tags. And the company. And the food, Codsworth.”

“Anytime, sir!” Codsworth chimed from the doorway.

“I feel bad leaving you all alone again,” Hadasah said. Sure he’d been here for three whole years, but how much longer would he last on his own? How long until he reached some point of no return and faded away, became another skeleton in the wastes? Then an idea struck her. “Why don’t we connect this old terminal to my Pip Boy? It has a pretty strong wireless signal coming out the top of the bunker, and as long as I’m not too far away or underground, I’ll pick up. Then I can check in on you.”

“That’s awfully kind of you. I’m not sure what I did to deserve this, but thank you.” He stood up and she offered a hug. He accepted, and she let him hold her as long as he wanted.

“It’s no problem. And here, take a book. Something to keep your mind busy. You can send me messages about it as you read. We can start a book club.”

“ _The Things They Carried._ Never heard of it.”

“Written by a veteran of the Vietnam War. Figured you might find some things in common with the author. And it’s on the frequently banned list! My favorite to-read roster.”

“I look forward to getting started.” He placed the book next to the laser rifle. Hadassah went to the terminal and initiated the wireless connection. It was a simple trick that only took a few minutes. The Pip Boy worked like its own compact terminal, so sending and receiving messages was as simple as knowing the Pip Boy’s unique serial number.

She smiled at Brandis one more time and made for the door. “I’ll find the rest of your team for you,” she said over her shoulder as she stepped over the threshold. “Just follow the distress signals, right? Same ones?”

“Same ones. There were six others. Thank you again, for everything you’ve done. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Don’t mention it, Brandis. Good luck!”

She and Codsworth were nearly out of earshot when his shout rang out. 

“The Slog!” He pointed to the southeast. “Follow the water’s edge. A settlement. They’ve helped me in the past.”

She waved back to let him know she’d heard, and then he vanished back into the bunker.

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Maxson MX-001E Notes Application_

_I have given thought to my parents lately. How they lived and died. My father, like all those in the Maxson line, exhibited strong soulbound tendencies from a very young age. And yet he chose not to pursue his mate, just as Elder Lyons must have chosen the same as a young man. Both of them received heavy criticism for defying their bonds, and both of their legacies are tainted by their unbalanced bond status._

_I was quite young when my father died, and yet I remember his death was blamed on my mother. She was not his mate, the council said, and so it was her seduction of my father that caused him to fall in battle as he did. If he had been balanced with his true mate, they said, he would have been strong enough to endure. This was her doing, simply by existing and taking up the space where another deserved to stand. Her decision, then, to send me away towards the faint bond-whisper resting perpetually in the unknown east was as much faith as it was bravery. Where she failed, she hoped I would succeed._

_But she had not known about Lyons, and the way his mentorship would mold me. I watched the Brotherhood tear itself into pieces over the question of soulbonds. Does the bond start and end with only two? Or will our partnership strengthen the Brotherhood as a whole? My father and mother loved one another, chose one another. When we, who did not choose one another, balance and become whole, will we love one another?_

_Does anyone care?_

* * *

Someone living at the Slog had the foresight to put up a large sign, or she might have missed the place entirely. The settlement was nondescript, some sort of old community pool it looked like, and it was run entirely by people with rough looking skin. 

“Ghouls, mum,” Codsworth whispered helpfully. “These are the poor wretches I told you about in Sanctuary. The ones who survived the radiation and...changed.”

“Holy shit, Codsworth.” She was certain they’d seen her, but none of them seemed too wound up by her presence. When she noted the turrets lining the building’s roof and the glint of a rifle in a darkened corner, she could understand the reason for their apathy.

One of the ghouls broke away from the others and walked with slow, confident steps in her direction. 

“We don’t want any trouble, stranger. Name’s Wiseman. You here to trade, or just passing through?” The ghoul--Wiseman--held a hand out. Dark, glittering pits were all that remained of his eyes.

She gripped the hand, shook it. Warm, just like hers. But also a bit stiff and leathery. Wiseman grinned, and she felt like she’d passed a test of some sort. A few of the ghouls who’d stopped working to gawk relaxed into the rhythm of their tasks once more. Wiseman gestured toward the compound and Hadassah fell into step with him as he made the short return journey.

“Could be passing through. Could trade, depending on what you have. My name’s Nora. I met a guy in a bunker north of here who told me about you.”

“Oh, the Brotherhood guy? Yeah, we’ve run into him a couple times. Wasn’t too keen on him at first. Bit too eager with the trigger finger, although nobody got hurt. Came around eventually. We drop off a few essentials at his door about once a month or so. Things we can spare. Does the ghoul community good to show the smoothskins we care.”

“That’s nice of you. I get the feeling spare items are quite the luxury these days.”

“You said it. So you a merc or somethin’? Nice gun you got there.” He stopped in front of the main doorway and rested a hand on his hip, taking her measure. 

Hadassah puzzled Wiseman’s words; no, she wasn’t a merc, but if caps were what made the world go round, she wasn’t likely going to come across any more by charity alone. Codsworth had a sizable stash, but she actually had no idea what that many caps were worth. What was the economy like these days? What did people value anymore?

“I’m not a mercenary,” Hadassah said, ideas blooming slowly in her mind. It would take her even more time to follow the Chinese signal if she lingered here, but making local allies _would_ be helpful in the long run. And it would make Preston happy. Preston deserved happiness. And she’d have more money to boot. “But if you’ve got some trouble, I’ve got the experience. Need anything done?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Wiseman grinned at her again. The craggy skin around his cheeks tightened enough to smooth some of the wrinkles. “As a matter of fact, we do have a problem. There’s a little something we’d like you to retrieve. If you can manage him, that is.”

* * *

Hadassah ducked behind the tree again, another bullet slicing through the bark way too close to her head. Mordecai the Boy Raider Extraordinaire had been crouched right where the ghoul Deirdre had said he’d be: over an open grave, with a bottle of unmarked liquor in one hand and a shit-ass pistol in the other.

Thankfully the inebriation also shit-assed his aim, or her plan of “just walk right up and say hi; it worked all the other times so why not” would have been significantly more deadly. 

“Shall I in _cin_ erate him, mum?” Codsworth looked little too excited about the prospect. His eye shutters whirled, which she’d figured out indicated murderous glee. 

“Nah.” She peeked around the tree. Mordecai the Boy Raider Unfortunate had run out of ammo. They were now beating their gun on the ground and ugly-crying. “I think we got this.”

“Hey, you,” she called. Mordecai ignored her, sinking to the ground into a sad little pile of rusty spikes and holey casual wear. Getting closer to him produced no reaction, and soon she was right next to him. She crouched down and rested a hand on the back of his head. 

“Hey,” she said again, quieter. “You Mordecai?” The raider nodded. “Your friends at the Slog are worried about you. Sent me out here to check on you.”

“They want you to _kill_ me,” he sniffed. A nauseating cloud of alcohol wafted up from his mouth. “Why’d they send someone like you if they didn’t want me to die? They _hate_ me.”

“Nah,” Hadassah said. “I actually offered death up as an option and they politely declined. Deirdre misses you. They all do.”

Mordecai sniffed some more and wiped his nose on a sleeve. “Maybe. Dunno why they’d want me back after what I’ve done.”

“So what, you decided to come out here and drink yourself to death over it?”

Mordecai raised the bottle in a sloppy salute. “Pretty much. It’s all I deserve at this point.”

“I’d like to disagree with that.”

Mordecai snorted. “You don’t even _know_ me.”

Hadassah shrugged. “I know people _like_ you. Plenty of people who left the ones who loved them, fucked up, and thought they didn’t deserve to come back. You can still go back to these people. Turn your life around. Do some good to make up for the bad.”

She glanced at the dead raider in the hole. There wasn’t much to see other than a bloated corpse by this point, but it was clear the person who’d once occupied it hadn’t lived a happy life.

“You know, even if someone I loved did terrible things, I’d still _love_ them. And if they wanted to change for the better, I’d welcome them back with open arms.” It wasn’t really true. She held grudges like nobody’s business, and sometimes all it took for her to burn a bridge was one stupid comment on the wrong day at the wrong time. But hey, if happy thoughts got the job done….

“I guess.” Another sniff, a bit less moist this time. “What’s your name, lady?” 

“Haddie. You gonna walk back with me?”

A long silence. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I just have to…”

She peered into the open grave. In the harsh light of midday, that bloated face almost looked like-- 

“Take your time finishing up. I’ll be waiting by the tree.”

* * *

It was nearly dinnertime before Mordecai finished, but true to his word he met Hadassah and Codsworth at the tree and trudged back to the Slog in sullen silence. Watching his transformation before Deirdre from badass-yet-drunken raider to shameful prodigal son was fascinating. 

Mordecai stood silent and shamefaced, staring at the ground in front of him as Deirdre stroked his hair and spoke quietly. Her disappointment was all the punishment he needed.

She recognized one resident ghoul, Arlen Glass, as the toymaker and engineer of Wilson Atomatoys. His company hadn’t been one of the ones she’d interned at, but he’d been a household name. One lazy afternoon the May of 2077 she’d gone on a factory tour with Ruthie and Nate; at the end the tour guide gave everyone a tiny Giddyup Buttercup on a keychain: metallic, with an old-world tin toy air, and made of excess parts that would otherwise wind up in a scrapyard. The ghoul--call me Arlen, he’d said--chuckled softly at the reminder. 

“I’m glad I was able to put a smile on your face,” Arlen told her when she finished her story. “I hope one day I can do the same for the children of this world. They deserve to be children, even if just for a short time each day.”

Again, Hadassah wondered where all the monsters were--the monsters with human faces she’d expected to inhabit this world. So far, the super mutants had been the worst thing she’d come across, and even they felt like only an aberration: a brief moment of insanity held curiously against a backdrop of wistful, broken people. She explained this to Codsworth, who thought for a while as they left Arlen to his tinkering.

“I do believe I’ve given you a one-sided view of the modern Bostonian,” Codsworth said. “The people I spoke of who chased me out of Concord repeatedly were rather desperate. To be fair, a lone Mr. Handy isn’t often a welcome sight. Too many of my, eh, peers have been taken up by raiders and mercenaries and the like, reprogrammed to shoot first and ask questions...well, never, I suppose. Little more than floating turrets at that point. Poor bastards.”

Hadassah lowered herself into one of the poolside deck chairs. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend the bullshit of the past few days was a Daytripper fever dream. Any minute now she’d snap out of it and see the face of some EMT checking her vitals at the Saugus Community Pool. Another Dirty Hippy getting too loose in public and letting her country down.

“I keep waiting for the hordes of psychopath raiders promised by the movies,” Hadassah said. “But so far all I’ve met are really nice people. Preston and Sturges, Mama, Brandis, and now these guys. Mordy was the closest thing so far, but the crying bit kind of ruined the Baddy McBadass effect he had going.” 

“I hear that things are much worse to the south,” Codsworth replied. “But I do hope you’re right, mum.”

So did she. 

The ghouls insisted Hadassah accept their hospitality as thanks for helping with their “little Mordy,” though they hadn’t stopped Codsworth from breaching the kitchens to make something he called Tarberry Pavlova Surprise. A pile of macerated tarberries suspended in custard sat atop a circular white cake; even Arlen Glass stopped working for a few minutes to behold its magnificent form.

“In truth, mum,” Codsworth whispered conspiratorially while handing her a slice, “one really needs a low oven and several hours to properly dry out the egg whites, but I don’t imagine many people retain working knowledge of pavlova technique these days. My use of a modified sponge recipe is merely a ruse, but we needn’t ruin the magic.” 

“Enjoying the cake, Mordy?” Hadassah found him crouched down by the generators, avoiding everyone’s presence. 

“Yes, Miss Haddie,” he said. He studied the ground meekly. “I’m sorry for shooting at you earlier, ma’am. I was having a bad time.” 

What a difference a bath made for some people, Hadassah thought. Maybe that was the secret, and she could get rid of the remaining raiders by opening a public bathhouse. She described this plan to Mordy, who let out a barking laugh before ducking his head again, somber.

“All of them could’ve used a bath,” he mumbled. “They were always too strung out on chems to care what they looked like.”

She sat on the ground next to Mordy. Codsworth excused himself to help with the dishes.

“Did your parents live here?”

Mordy shook his head. “Nah, they were gunned down by super mutants. They took my dad, but my mom managed to crawl her way here with me tied to her back. Holly tried to save her but she died overnight. Then it was just me. They’re good to me here. I can’t believe they even took me back.”

“Like I said, most people welcome back their loved ones with open arms, even if they’ve done some terrible stuff.”

Mordy smiled. “But not all people?”

Hadassah flushed a little. “Yeah, uh. I kinda said that just to make you come back. I can be pretty bad at holding stuff over people’s heads, sometimes. I’m...working on it, I guess.”

“I’m not mad,” Mordy said. “You did the right thing, even if you weren’t being honest.”

“Story of my life,” Hadassah muttered. “Trying to do the right thing.”

“And being honest?”

“Maybe I’ll make it my post-apocalyptic resolution or something. More honesty, less sneaking around to get my business done. But I dunno. Sneaking around kept me alive. Asking forgiveness not permission kept me alive. Lying kept me alive. And if it makes other people feel good, I don’t see the harm in some forms of dishonesty if it’s something small. Why bother people with stuff when you can take care of it before they even know something’s wrong?”

“That’s fair.”

Mordy leaned back onto the grass and stared up at the sky. The stars were beginning to come out, millions upon millions of stars. Hadassah couldn’t pick out a single constellation in all the clutter.

Across the settlement, a trading caravan pulled up to the fence. The leader, a dirty-looking man in road leathers, spoke with Wiseman, who’d walked up to greet them. They seemed to be having a cordial discussion, though Hadassah noticed the trader stood a little farther away than one normally would for private conversation. 

One of the caravan guards caught Hadassah’s attention. A bald man wearing sunglasses and carrying a shotgun, he appeared to be listening in on his employer’s discussion, but the longer she watched him the more Hadassah felt his eyes on her. She’d never seen him before, she was sure of that. And she was certain he’d been staring at her for a good five minutes now, eyes hidden behind tinted glass. There was something so familiar about him….

She jumped when a hand touched her arm. 

“Come on,” Holly said. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Technically, it was everyone’s room, but Hadassah appreciated the gesture. A relatively clean mattress on the floor was indeed a luxury: there was one assumption she’d made about this world that had come true. Why put sheets on a bed when you could use the sheets to make other, more useful things? Rope, clothing, a bag…more rope….

“Hey,” Mordy whispered. He’d gone to bed on the mattress next to her. “Goodnight.” Someone on the far side of the room hushed him.

“Goodnight,” Hadassah whispered back. She sent a single, fleeting nudge to the soulmate, basking in a rush of guilty pleasure as he scrambled to return contact. 

A moment of connection was all she allowed before putting the wall back in place, though she noted that it was harder now to slide out of his grasp than it had been last time. He was learning, and fast. Even through the dull blockage she sensed disappointment, frustration, and confusion. She ignored it, like she did most upsetting things not of immediate concern, and waited for sleep to take her.

* * *

  
  


She wasn’t surprised when Mordy wanted to come with her the next morning. She _was_ surprised that Dierdre allowed him to go, but not as surprised as she was at her own excitement to have him along. Traveling alone had been the name of the game for her undercover assignments. 

Oh, she was surrounded by People: other interns, scientists, engineers, and bigwigs of all sizes and shapes. But when any of them could be a potential mole or spy or dangerously loud-mouthed person, you didn’t have the option of getting too close.

Plus, Mordy met the right sort of standards she reserved for companionship: he didn’t ask too many questions, he minded his own business, and he expressed comfort partaking in the morally gray conduct she employed to get shit done. Hadassah had _liked_ Preston, had felt an immediate connection to Brandis, but both of them were _good_ people. The ghouls at the Slog were _good_ people. What she needed was someone who wasn’t so good, who would let some of her shadiness go unremarked upon.

Hadassah had lived a life rewarding her for duplicity, manipulation, and secrecy. It felt wrong to get too close to Good People, to corrupt them with her presence. It was enough to watch them from the sidelines and get a sort of social contact-high, for a time, but there always came a point when it was too much, and she had to move on. 

Mordy, she thought, understood this. She waited for him to gather a few things, and the two of them set off from the Slog the next day after setting up a link between her Pip Boy and Arlen Glass’s terminal. The Slog wasn’t her final destination, but it was a place she knew she wanted to come back to if she could, just as she planned to revisit Sanctuary.

Codsworth returned to Sanctuary with an order to continue assisting the Minutemen in any way he could. Until she followed the distress signal the rest of the way, Hadassah wasn’t willing to commit to Garvey’s little group, but she still felt they deserved what resources she could offer in the meantime. 

Besides, the Minutemen could prove useful in the long run should she require help taking back her nephew. She also sent Codsworth with a message about the Slog. Perhaps someone at Sanctuary would make arrangements to trade with them. 

Hadassah and Mordy continued traveling south, stopping for a water break at a small farm run by a family called Finch. The Finches mentioned issues with the local raider population, a conflict that apparently involved their son, but Hadassah elected to move on in spite of Mordy’s eagerness to help. There were things she needed answers to before she was willing to add more to her ever-growing to-do list. 

Finding the rest of Brandis’s team, for one. The Chinese distress signal wasn’t going anywhere, but those Brotherhood remains (and she had a grim feeling that’s what she would find) could wander away with the next scavenger.

Mordy proved to be an excellent backup for this task. The distress frequency Brandis identified led them straight to the old National Guard Training Yard, an area crawling with feral ghouls. It was Hadassah’s first time seeing them: shriveled-up, mindless husks where once her peers had been. A fate that might have fallen upon her own head, had she not gotten to the vault in time. Naked as most of them were, it wasn’t likely she’d recognize anyone, but she stared at their faces all the same, hoping and dreading for some connection there. 

“I’ll handle this one,” Mordy said. “You stay back here and pick any off that break away. Aim for the head, just like people.” From one of his pockets he pulled out a vial filled with red liquid. He opened it and spread the contents on his face.

“Ghoul blood from the Slog,” he explained. “It makes them confused at first. They don’t attack other ghouls. This won’t work forever, but they stop long enough to get in a shot, and it stops them from swarming, too.”

Ten minutes later, the distress signal went out. Five minutes after that and Mordy scooted out a side door with a glowing tag around his neck.

_Inge Astlin_

_AS-437K_

_A+_

_Brotherhood of Steel-EC_

“Nice work.” She pocketed the holotag.

“Thanks, ma’am.” 

“Mordy, you can just call me Haddie.”

“Okay, Miss Haddie.”

Well, that would have to do.

The other signal appeared to be nearby in the direction of a relay tower, though the reception was a bit weak. Hadassah decided to go to the relay tower first before searching the area; if she was able to get the tower back online, not only would it boost any remaining signals but it could also extend the communication range of her Pip Boy.

After some percussive maintenance, Hadassah and Mordy reactivated the relays. The enhanced signal range led them to a bombed-out house just north of the tower, where a massive crater revealed the team’s power armor, one of which contained human remains and several more holotags. Only a single set were still intact enough to read. 

_Alger Varham_

_VR-503K_

_B+_

_Brotherhood of Steel-EC_

“I think that’s it, Mordy. Six tags, including the one I gave to him at the bunker.”

Mordy took the tags from her, slipping the chains over his head. The little pile of tags bunched at the bottom of his neck like morbid trophies, and Hadassah hoped they didn’t meet any live Brotherhood of Steel soldiers anytime soon. They might not wait long enough for an explanation before firing shots.

“What now, Miss Haddie?”

Hadassah played with the dials on her Pip Boy. The relay tower had also strengthened the Chinese signal coming from the bay, and she had a much better idea of its location now.

“So, there’s this other signal I want to investigate. It’s one I know. Problem is, we might have to swim to get to it. It’s uh, a submarine. Underwater boat thing.”

Morty frowned. “I know what a submarine is. Seen one in a magazine. But you’re gonna get sick swimming in the water around here. Where is it compared to us now?”

She checked the map and tilted her wrist to show Mordy the screen. “South and slightly east. Just below the airport. Or where the airport used to be.”

Mordy’s frown deepened. “The airport is a mess of ferals. It’d be tough getting through even with the blood. I can’t shoot that fast, and you don’t seem to be the heavy fighting type.”

“Concur. Any ideas?”

“Well…” Mordy squinted off into the distance, as though the perfect plan had wedged itself between some rocks on the horizon. “It’ll probably be dusk by the time we get to the bay, but for most of the trip we’ll have full sun. Doesn’t smell like there’ll be any storms today.”

He pointed to her screen, following the ragged curve of shoreline with a finger. “We should hug the edge of the western shoreline, and we should be fine. The downs are on the east side, and the races should pull in most of the local raiders. The ferals usually stay inside the buildings at the airport, so the shoreline should be clear. Once we reach the bay, we could probably find a little boat somewhere to keep from getting in the water as much as we can.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They set off right away, and more or less stuck to the path Mordy indicated. Skeletal remains of boats and planes littered the water, and she might have missed the submarine entirely had a periscope not slowly retreated into a dark shadow out in the center of the bay. The ball of anxiety forming in her belly since she left the Slog intensified.

“Giant metal fish sleeping in the bay, huh? I think this one’s an invasive species, Mordy.”

“Is that it?” Mordy whispered. He shuffled his feet nervously. “I read about those things. They do that to see out of the water. Right?”

“Right,” Hadassah whispered back. She scanned the shoreline and found a rowboat in not too terrible of shape, so long as you didn’t include the skeletons in the appraisal. She and Mordy gave the boat’s former occupants a free burial at sea and they glided across the still surface, careful not to make too much noise with the oars.

Someone had made a sort of wooden platform near the conning tower. Mordy tied the boat off with some twine and the two of them hesitated near the hatch, neither reaching for it.

“Do you, um, know who’s inside?” Mordy gripped his shotgun firmly, setting his feet against the platform. “Are they the ones who sent the signal?”

Hadassah took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and let it out in a huff. Usually the act helped stabilize her, but these nerves wouldn’t be satisfied for anything less than seeing what was beyond that door. 

“Well, I used to know,” Hadassah said. “Can’t be sure who’s in there now until we check. I’ll take point. The entrance to a sub is really narrow, so it’s not really possible for us to go in together.”

Mordy bit his lip. “Shouldn’t--I mean, I said I would go with you and help, so shouldn’t I go in first?”

_Cutie._ Hadassah grinned and patted him on the head. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I know the layout of this thing, so I should go in first.”

Mordy nodded to Hadassah, who opened the hatch and readied Gun in her right hand, using the left to control her descent on the ladder. She stopped and waited a couple feet in, straining to hear any signs of life. 

Faint, whirring sounds told her at least some computing systems were still active, and the faded lighting said some power remained. But that didn’t mean much. Only the movement of the periscope proved some occupant, but even that didn’t mean much. For all she knew, some lucky Mr. Handy had taken control of the craft ages ago.

“Okay?” Mordy, whispering from the opening at the top.

“Okay.” 

She descended the rest of the way in silence, keeping her back pressed against the side so that she would emerge facing into the hallway. At the bottom she dropped into a crouch, heading forward into the main control room. A shuffle drew her attention to the corner. The familiar shadow of a man stood up, slowly, and stepped into the light. Hadassah gasped, nearly dropping Gun in shock. It couldn’t be. It _couldn’t be._

A ghoul wearing a threadbare Chinese naval uniform gaped back at her. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Hadassah stood up, holstering her gun with shaking hands, and saluted half-heartedly.

“Rear Admiral Zao? You’re...looking remarkably well for a man in his two hundred sixties.”

The ghoul took a few steps toward her and collapsed onto a stool halfway there. Hadassah stepped forward and reached for his hands. Behind her, she could hear Mordy descending the ladder. In front of her, glittering black eyes like galaxies searched her face restlessly, never resting on any one spot for long. The admiral’s grip when he took her hands was strong, nearly vicelike, and he shook with restrained intensity.

“Agent Fanwort. Is that you? I didn’t...know you were coming. I couldn’t--”

“I know. I know. Sorry I’m late for my check-in, Hui.” 

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mail Terminal Maxson MX-001E_

_Priority Communication_

_Fr: Lancer-Captain Kells KS-390LC_

_To: Prydwen Crew - All_

_This is a priority alert. At 0800 hours on 23 October 2287, Elder Maxson experienced sustained, alert contact with his soulmate. The soulmate is believed to be located in the area known as the Commonwealth in Old Boston. At this time we are pushing our travel to the Commonwealth ahead of schedule and will be departing no later than 0700 hours in exactly seven days’ time._

* * *

_RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian_

_Personal Messaging Application_

_To: ThetaBunker-Priority_

_Dear Paladin Brandis,_

_Just checking in with you. I hope you’re doing well and enjoying the book I left. Thanks again for letting me stay the night. I stopped at the Slog like you said, and the ghouls there were really nice. A friend and I managed to find the other five holotags, but only two of them were readable. I’ll make sure they get back to you as soon as possible._

_I’m going to the bay area near the airport to check on something, but when I’m done with that I’ll try to visit you again. I enjoyed our conversation about soulmates. Even though I still think I’m better off not knowing who’s at the other end of mine, it was nice to hear your side of things. I guess if I ever do meet them, I could try to make a little effort. Whoever they are, they seem really determined to get with me._

_Love,_

_Hadassah_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's long and hard and full of seamen
> 
> Look if you're not posting Cringe in the author's notes are you really writing fanfiction
> 
> gimme dat.....Komment


	3. I care about you. Here's some squirrel-on-a-stick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local protagonist trips balls, brings back viking funerals for the Vine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hadassah hittin them mentats like 

This really had been a surreal experience so far. Worthy of a really bad movie you went to see “ironically” with your roommate on a Tuesday night. 

First, the dramatic kidnapping. Then, the new soulmate. Followed by the colorful cast of Commonwealth characters (featuring everyone’s favorite robot butler, _and_ a dog that doesn’t die at the end!). Will our protagonist survive this harebrained ordeal? Find out next time on…. _This_ Bullshit. Sundays at 11.

Because, honestly? Honestly. It had been a day. A week. Here she was sitting in the Yangtze’s cramped officer’s mess with her new ex-raider friend while her ghoulified ex-soulmate made beverages like this was just a normal Wednesday. Or whatever the hell day it was. It _felt_ like a Wednesday.

_“You take your coffee the same?”_ His Mandarin sounded nearly the same, the smooth, smoky tones roughened only slightly by the radiation damage to his throat. But even if he’d been mute, she would have known who he was by his posture, the way he walked, and the way he tilted his head just so when he confirmed her coffee order.

_“I do. Thank you,”_ she said when he sat the mug down in front of her. Mordy sat in the chair next to her, looking between Zao and Hadassah with a bewildered expression.

“It’s Chinese,” she said to him. “Sir, he doesn’t know Chinese.”

Zao pulled up a chair alongside, looming over where she sat on the lower stool. _“Hell if I care. Who is he, anyway? Looks like a punk made a baby with a Mormon missionary. Is that a button-up shirt? Who the hell wears button-up shirts anymore? Is he gonna try to sell me a vacuum?”_

_“Don’t be mean, Hui. He’s been having a bad week,”_ she admonished.

“Fine, okay,” Zao grumbled. He gave Mordy a perfunctory once-over. “Hello, welcome to the Yangtze, my party sub. Bathroom is down the hall. Exit is back where you came from. _There, happy?”_

Hadassah rolled her eyes.

“Um,” Mordy said. “Why did he call you Agent Fanwort when you came in?”

“Oh, you heard that?” Hadassah sipped the two hundred year old instant coffee. It tasted horrible, like two hundred year old instant coffee. “That was my field name when I worked for the Chinese.”

Mordy gasped, wide eyes flickering back and forth between Hadassah and Zao. “But--aren’t the Chinese the bad guys? And you...you’d have to be _really_ old.”

_“I’m going to throw this jackass off the tower, Haddie. Kidding, I’m kidding. Maybe.”_

_“I can’t believe two hundred years didn’t mellow your personality a little._ Mordy, I’m not old, I just got...stuck. I lived back before the bombs fell, and when I went into a vault they froze us. Like, uh…”

Mordy held up a finger. “Like in that one Silver Shroud episode where he finds the Frozen Fury locked in cryosleep in the Secret Bunker! They had a lot of chemistry but in the end they just kissed and I always thought that it was kind of weird that he didn’t go back and check on the cryo pods, like, he didn’t even turn over the location to the military or anything and he just left it where it was in a warehouse and they never really said who _built_ the cryo pods. Maybe they were going to do a big reveal before the bombs killed all the writers.”

The hull creaked ominously in the awkward silence that followed.

“Yeah, that’s--yeah, exactly right, Mordy.” Hadassah patted Mordy on the arm. “Man, and my teachers said comic books were for slackers.”

_“Off. The. Tower.”_

_“He’s an actual child.”_

_“He’s goddamn annoying. Cryogenics, really? Is that what cut you off from me?”_

Hadassah cleared her throat loudly. “So anyway, Mordy, when I worked for the Chinese before the war--and yes, most Americans considered them the bad guys--I was given a code name. Like in comic books. And mine was Fanwort. I picked it out because fanwort was an invasive water plant that clogged up the waterways in Massachusetts. And, you know, I checked in with the _Chinese navy_.” Hadassah laughed. Mordy blinked at her. “Well, I thought it was funny, anyway.”

_“Didn’t I tell you that your jokes are terrible? Americans are not funny.”_

Hadassah slouched on her stool. 

_“How are you...feeling? What a strange thing for me to ask.”_ Zao reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. His touch left her hollow.

It _was_ strange. He’d never had to ask before. He’d just _known_. Even when suppressed, she’d never managed to hide from Zao for long, not the way she could hide from her new soulmate who didn’t know any better. 

She’d stopped suppressing, towards the end of Everything. Most soulbound people she knew of had done the same. They’d all stopped the pills, stopped the natural methods of suppression, once they saw which way the wind was blowing. It felt like the whole world had gone mad with desperation. Desperation for contact, love, reassurance. Desperate to escape reality. 

As she watched the slow, tortuous implosion of her society, keeping her mate closed off from her had felt like a loneliness too deep to bear. Hui hadn’t been the best soulmate. Now that the only thing joining them was the physical weight of his hand, she felt safe enough to admit that to herself. They’d been yet another tragedy playing out to the backdrop of political savagery: their bond was an opportunity for others to seize, not a partnership to grow and be tended to. 

Part of her burned up with guilt, because with her admission came a feeling of relief. Savage as the world was now, littered with the bodies of hundreds of millions, she felt free and clean for the first time in years. The new soulmate, whoever he was, existed as mere abstraction for the moment. She felt him, still tapping away at her walls every so often, but at this distance she could regard him as yet another wasteland obstacle. One noise in the cacophony. He wasn’t _real_ real.

“When I woke up, I felt something snap. And then you were gone. Then, when I woke up again...” That first awakening must have caused the end of her and the admiral. That feeling of being ripped apart on a primal level, exposed and raw. 

When she’d woken up and watched Shaun being taken away.

Shaun.

Shaun, who she hadn’t thought about once all day. Shaun, who was out there somewhere, helpless and unloved if he was still alive. And instead of channeling all of her strength into finding Shaun straight away, she’d played settler for a couple days before meandering into the bay area for what, exactly? Closure? Hell, she’d spent more time thinking about her errant soulmate than her kidnapped nephew. A soulmate she didn’t even want to _meet_ , let alone have a life with. Fuck it, she’d fantasized about _washing her hair_ more than she’d thought about Shaun.

Zao’s attention was sharp. He’d always been an intense person, but she rarely saw him so tense in casual conversation with her. There was something in those eyes of his that hadn’t been there before. 

It was loneliness, she thought. Or maybe she was just projecting; she felt lonely too. They were lost in a weary, oppressive loneliness felt by two people who, once they’d connected, had never really been apart. Being here next to Zao was lonely in a way she didn’t know she could express with words, and without the bond there were no nebulous amalgamations of emotion for either of them to wade through in place of speech.

_“When you woke up again…?_ ” The weight of his hand grew heavier.

_“There’s someone else now, Hui. I don’t know how it happened. But there’s someone else.”_

He slumped back into his chair. “Someone else...a new bond? You have...a new bond? How can that be?”

“A bond? You have a soulmate?” Mordy had been watching quietly the whole time. Hadassah had expected him to zone out, given he couldn’t understand half the conversation.

“I guess I do,” said Hadassah. “I can feel him. Her. Them. That remains to be confirmed. I’ve been keeping as separate as I can, though.”

Zao nodded approvingly. _“No telling who he is. I kill at least one group of raiders a month out here. For all you know, he could be one of them. Is he close?”_

Hadassah glanced at Mordy. “No. Well, he’s not close in today’s terms, probably. _Feels south, along the coast. Maryland, maybe? DC area?”_

Soulbound people generally had a much better grasp on world geography when compared to their unbound peers. It just came with the territory. 

Zao chewed his lip, thinking, and then nodded again. _“Keep it up._ Now, I do have something to discuss with you. As much as I enjoy your company, I find myself in the position of having errands that need to be run. My crew...well, you will see that for yourself in time. They are like me, but...not. Wild. They do not hurt me, but they would hurt you.”

“Feral?” Mordy chimed in.

Zao shrugged. “If that is what people call it.” He hesitated, a shadow of grief passing over his face, and then sat up a little straighter. “They were my family. I cannot kill them. But perhaps I should. There is something I would like to ask you, Haddie.”

Hadassah blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Huh?”

_“Why did you find me? You could have gone anywhere.”_

_“The distress signal.”_ She gestured to her Pip Boy. _“I had to know. Once I found out about ghouls, I thought maybe there was a chance you were still here.”_

Zao stared at her for a minute, silent. Then, _“It’s been two hundred years, but I don’t think all the time in the world could have prepared me for this outcome. There was so much unsaid between us.”_

Hadassah shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Mordy although the chance he understood was almost none. She played with her fingers in her lap, unwilling to look Zao in the face.

_“There’s something I need help with, Hui.”_

_“Tell me. I will make it happen if I can.”_

_“The baby. My sister’s. He was stolen from the Vault. I’m trying to find him.”_

_“A stolen baby...maybe the_ Institute _? I have heard about them from some of the traders willing to do business with me on the shore._ The Institute is everyone’s curse these days. _”_

“The Institute?” Mordy looked startled. A few minutes ago he’d taken out a knife and began to clean his fingernails with it. “What about the Institute?”

Zao peered up at the damp ceiling, thoughtful. “Maybe...maybe there is something I can do. Something we can do. Together. Like old times.”

“I cannot leave my Yangtze,” Zao continued. “But I have been able to gather some information about the local area. Boston. My intel from before the war tells me of a place, Saugus Ironworks. Something I need is there. A dampening coil. My Yangtze is not, ah, seaworthy. There is some power, you can see. Bathroom works. Some lights work. But more advanced systems, no. If you will bring me a dampening coil, then I can work on repairs. We can find this Institute.”

Hadassah tilted her head. “Not that I’m not grateful, but I’m not accustomed to you being so selfless. What would you get from this?”

_“Bah, what a cynic._ Well, to be honest, I want to go home. I have spent many years here regretting what I have done to this city. If the Institute has advanced technology, and if I can help you get in, then they will probably have the resources to fix the Yangtze completely. But of course, you are busy with finding the boy. You have no time to help me.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Hadassah said. “I don’t mind helping you do that as long as I get Shaun. And there may be someone I could connect you with. A mechanic. I don’t know him too well, but he seems like a nice person. Smart. With the Minutemen.”

_“Ah, I remember them._ So, the dampening coil? You will get it?”

“Yeah. We need to stock up, though. We heard about Saugus on the way down and it sounds like some raiders set up camp there. I don’t really feel equipped to handle that. Where do we go to get combat supplies around here?” 

Mordy beamed. “I know just the place!”

* * *

A merc, a ghoul, an ex-raider, and a vault dweller all walked into Saugus Ironworks….

Traveling on foot to Saugus took most of a day. Hancock--the ghoul mayor of a settlement called Goodneighbor--had generously provided spare mattresses in the State House to Hadassah and Mordy following several rowdy hours “networking” at the Third Rail. Hancock’s own merc-of-the-year trophy recipient, an ex-Gunner named MacCready, had taken up residence in the VIP lounge. He was, according to Hancock, “absolutely fucking desperate for caps--seriously, he’ll probably take two caps and a hot meal at this point. _Don’t_ tell him I said that.” 

MacCready kept his silence on the journey north. He didn’t _seem_ like the quiet type--every time Hadassah looked back at him, he had a look on his face like he wanted to say something--but other than the occasional “right” or “on it,” he’d been reticent.

Up until she’d started puking, that is.

But that didn’t happen until later. 

_And_ it was Hancock’s fault. Mostly.

Apparently, not only did Hancock gobble up chems during his downtime, he _also_ gobbled chems all of the _other_ times. And he was more than willing to share. Crouched down in the bushes outside of Saugus, he’d slipped a box into Hadassah’s hand and said, “Pop one of _these_ , Sunshine. Now _that’ll_ get your heart pumping.”

She hadn’t even _asked_ what it _did._ Like a feral little goblin, she’d just opened the tin and taken one...whatever it was. Even Mordy had looked sideways at her.

And at first, everything had been wonderful. MacCready had taken command ten minutes into the crawl to the blast furnace once it became apparent that his motley crew weren’t the Planning Types--

“I dunno, we just fuckin’...start shooting the place up. Strategically. Ya know?” 

“Yeah. Good thinking, Hancock.” 

“Yeah, sounds good to me.” 

_“No._ Dam--dang, how have none of you been killed yet?”

\--and _then_ the mentats hit right at the end, after she’d forgotten about taking them in the first place. She'd gathered from Hancock’s helpful stage whispers that mentats were supposed to sharpen the senses, make you feel on edge in a productive sort of way. In her case, nothing had happened at all for an entire hour. 

And then, in the blast furnace, _everything_ happened.

Some _asshat_ in rusted power armor was rambling on about some gang called the _Forged_ and the _trials_ and _proving_ yourself and Hadassah couldn’t pay attention to a goddamn thing on account of her sudden ability to _smell colors._ The mentats hit her system like a dump truck hitting a too-slow pigeon and now all she could do was cling to the grill and hope the blacked out driver didn’t rear end a bus. 

The next bits were a blur, but the main gist of it happened as follows: first, Hadassah punched two raiders into a vat of molten metal; next, Hadassah picked up a flamethrower dropped by Raider B and immolated Rusty Asshat (who dropped a special sword); then, Hadassah clawed Rusty Asshat out of the power armor and gave the armor free of charge to the sobbing settler kneeling at the bottom of the ramp. Before the dust had even settled, she gave Jake Finch a full-body hug, whispered something in his ear about the importance of family, and escaped onto the roof into the night and out of lucidity.

* * *

_[redacted] Internal Network_

_User wouldntyouliketoknow_

_Vault Dweller spotted leaving 111 at [redacted]. Appears to have combat and infiltration training. In possession of personalized Chinese military gear. Either high ranking or connected to someone of high rank. Spotted the Watchers within two hours of leaving vault and dissected one to confirm presence of Inst. hardware. Helped MM establish at Sanc. Stopped at the Slog, appeared friendly with ghouls. Made brief verbal contact. Fed intelligence to MH in Gnb, connection proceeding accordingly. Intelligence from Sanc and surviving vault records shows a break in [redacted] likely work of Inst. Recommend further observation, will likely head to DC in the next two weeks._

* * *

  
  


She came-to hurling in a bucket at Finch Farm. Abigail Finch alternated between rubbing circles on Hadassah’s lower back and scolding her husband and son, both of whom stood sheepishly on the edge of the garden.

Hancock, MacCready, and Mordy--amazed, dumbfounded, and scandalized, respectively--stood off to the side, watching the show. Through a haze of nausea and vertigo, Hadassah could see the dampening coils clutched in Mordy’s gloved hands. At least someone had remembered to grab the damn things. 

In the background, a radio blared some god awful song about radiation--and wasn’t _that_ appropriate--while the other Finch son stirred a steaming pot atop the family stove, resolutely ignoring the insanity around him. 

“Oh god, what the hell happened,” Hadassah moaned. Her entire body ached like one big bruise. On top of that, her weakened state left her unable to suppress the soulbond, and her mate latched onto her break in concentration like a radleech. 

(Hadassah had neither seen nor heard of creatures called radleeches, but after the initial radroach incident in Vault 111 she felt like they _had_ to exist.) 

Her mate ran in desperate circles around her head, probably trying to map the lay of the land before getting the boot. He’d been getting more savvy in the day since the trip to Goodneighbor; once she’d started shutting him out more consistently, there'd been an increase in concentration from his end of the bond. It was a more active sort of attention rather than the passive hand-holding the bond produced in a neutral state. He felt focused, and calculating. Attempting to pinpoint her current position so he could triangulate her general location, most likely. 

“Stimpak sickness on top of a bad reaction to chems, from what I’ve been told,” Abigail said.

Hadassah swayed her head in Hancock’s general direction. “Wuh?”

“Mentats kicked in _hard,_ sister. Been a while since I’ve seen a trip that bad,” Hancock said. Mordy nodded his agreement.

“That crap Hancock gave you must’ve been a bad batch,” MacCready said. “I told you it was a bad idea, but nooobody listens to Bobby.”

“I didn’t...even...hear you...say anything.” Hadassah threw up again. It was mainly stomach lining at this point, which would have fascinated her had she not felt like a dying goat.

“Exactly,” MacCready said sagely. “Nobody listens.” 

Mordy wandered into the Finch house; judging by the clanking sounds emanating from within, he’d given himself permission to poke around the family’s possessions. No one else seemed to notice or care. 

Hadassah spent the next half hour alternating between dry heaving and attempting to keep her suppression up. Her soulmate poked around her mind like he lived there, occasionally reaching for attention like a dog begging for treats. Hadassah evaded him as best she could, which at the moment was going about as well as a toddler trying out olympic hurdles for the first time.

When at last the worst was over, Hancock and MacCready abandoned their mooched dinner and returned to her side--not to pat her on the head or issue condolences, of course, but to look in the bucket and marvel at the volume. Hadassah was beginning to regret sending Codsworth back to Sanctuary. He would have at _least_ provided her with a damp cloth to wash her face with. 

“People get stimpak sickness sometimes when they’re not used to getting them,” Hancock said, lifting the bucket by the handle as though to test its weight. “We found you buggin’ out covered in burns under the overpass so the kid here gave you the ol’ poke. Then you started in on the reverse eating contest. _Damn,_ there’s so much in here. Fuck did you eat?”

“ _‘Kid.’_ I’m twenty-one,” mumbled MacCready. The flush on his face did not lend credence to his statement.

“Usually it’s just vault dwellers that get sick,” Hancock continued, ignoring MacCready entirely. MacCready did not look surprised by this treatment; he stomped into the little shack after Mordy, leaving Hadassah alone with Hancock and a curious Abigail. “Wouldn’t happen to have fallen out of one of those recently, eh Sunshine?”

There was an edge of certainty to his voice that Hadassah didn’t like. Her head had cleared enough to accept a can of water from Abigail, and her stomach had settled enough to let the water stay for a while. Still, she didn’t feel well enough to stand and leaned her upper body against the bucket rim. Hancock stood several feet away, body language suspiciously casual. 

So. He knew she was from a vault. He’d probably known the whole time. She felt a cold chill on the back of her neck, a feeling she associated with being watched.

“How...?” Was all she said. Until she was certain, there was no reason to feed him additional information he hadn’t earned.

“One of my favorite caravan guards sang me a song the other night,” Hancock said. “Guy does stints as a watchman occasionally. Had a lot of interesting things to say about you, Sunshine. Is it true?”

Hadassah scowled and said nothing. Abigail took the bucket away from Hancock and came back with a damp rag, washing Hadassah’s face off with firm, motherly strokes.

“Aww, don’t gimme that look. A ghoul’s gotta do what a ghoul’s gotta do to keep his people safe, do you feel me? New player in the Commonwealth, packing Commie heat with a mysterious prewar past? Now that’s somethin’ I gotta know about. Not like it came cheap, though. If you’re gonna take your rage out on someone, take it out on El Creepo. He’s the one sellin’ you out, here.” Hancock folded his arms, waiting.

Hadassah fumed. She had been foolish to traipse around the Commonwealth so brazenly, especially when she _knew_ better than to share personal information openly. During her training period, this particular weakness had been flashed in her face constantly by the handlers. _You can’t assume people have your best interests in mind,_ they’d scold her. _Be more vague. Or learn to lie better. Like this._ And then they’d come up with something believable on the spot, like it was easy. 

But it was _hard_ being suspicious of everyone. Preston and everyone at the Slog had been so nice and she’d just forgotten, for a while, what it was like to be _on_ all the time. She’d been good enough at her prewar job but it hadn’t made her happy; keeping track of all of her different backstories was exhausting and she’d eventually gotten to a place where her real history was sacred, something no one was allowed to touch. Not even the admiral. Journals weren’t safe, either. She’d had to make a little place in her mind where the Real Hadassah lived, and any unapproved intrusion into that space was intolerable.

From what she’d seen of other agents, her experience was par for the course in espionage. The deceit she’d had to perform on a daily basis made her irritable to a fault. It was hard to be a normal person with normal friends when your job meant putting on a persona you had to stick to like your life depended on it. An informer’s job was to stick to the script, dig up what you were supposed to dig up, and leave before things got awkward. After that, going back to a normal life was impossible. She’d kept up with people for appearance’s sake, but it wasn’t the same anymore. 

A few times, she’d even lashed out at old friends for bringing up shared memories. Innocuous things, like going to concerts or touring a museum. “Remember that painting you liked?” they’d say, and she would say something like, “A painting? I’ve never even seen a painting before, much less liked one. How dare you imply that I would _like_ a _painting_.” Or something equally insane. 

Because when you were undercover, any little thing could be _The_ Thing, the fateful tidbit that ratted you out. Every question, every comment, every conversation became a test. What was I supposed to like again? _Do_ I like that painting? Does my persona like that painting? Which one was it again…?

The knee-jerk reaction now was to protect her true history like a wolf protecting cubs and simple truths terrified her if she hadn’t given explicit permission for them to be known and shared. What else did everyone know? What else did Hancock know? What was Brandis doing, right at this moment, with all that intel she’d just handed over for free?

“Sounds like you got the whole story, Hancock.” She pressed the cloth to her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the acclaimed adaptation with unpublished original content, now would I?” 

Hancock sighed and held his hands up in an apologetic gesture. Apologetic at having made her upset, no doubt, but _not_ for nosing around behind her back and then hiding it from her. 

She eyed the porch, willing her body to cooperate long enough to get there. Hauling ass off of the ground was easier said than done, but at least now she could do it with her own power. She made her way to one of the chairs on the porch and flopped down. The bottom of the sun sat neatly on the horizon, but if they made their way bayside now, they’d reach the submarine in fairly good time. 

She said as much to Mordy, who’d left the house by that point and was poking around aimlessly in the scrap heaps. He glanced at the sky with some trepidation, but agreed that if they were fast, they could make it by nightfall.

Hadassah took a minute to close her eyes and center herself. The soulmate sensed what was coming and refused to budge, fighting her every inch of the way back to a stable suppression. 

“I want you to keep the sword,” Abraham said when the odd little group collected itself in front of the house.

“Are you sure? I’m not much for close combat.”

MacCready snorted.

“While sober,” Hadassah amended.

“Take it,” Abraham insisted. “Modify it, sell it, what have you. But I want you to take it.”

Hadassah took the sword, her mind already supplying ideas for increasingly horrifying modifications she could make to Codsworth’s arsenal. Could you put more than three arms on a Mr. Handy…? 

“Thank you, Mr. Finch.”

* * *

_RobCo User STURGES_

_Personal Messaging Application_

_To: RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian_

_Got the terminal up and running. This is Sturges. Sturges from Sanctuary. With the Minutemen. The overhaul of the vault is going pretty swell. I am able to get more power going every day. Bigger problem is the leaks. Nobody did maintenance in a while it looks like so there’s a lot of mold and suchlike. The others are helping clean when they aren’t planting or hunting. We’ve had a few new settlers come who said they heard about the place from the caravans. A ghoul from the Slog also came by today and Preston says thank you for handling that. They plan to join up with the Minutemen officially and Jun helped set up a trade route. He is doing better every day. I have attached some schematics for a better generator that I think the Slog would like. Please get it to them if you can. Codsworth misses you, told him to head your way. Said he’d find you somehow._

_S_

_[attached file: 3498572340293584850.image]_

* * *

_RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian_

_Personal Messaging Application_

_To: ThetaBunker-Priority_

_Dear Paladin Brandis,_

_I’m glad you’re liking the book so far! I’ll keep an eye out for anything similar. I have a quick favor to ask. One of my new friends in Sanctuary came up with some plans for a generator that the Slog could really use. Would you be able to pass this on to them since you said they’ll show up in the next couple days? I left my Pip Boy number with them but I don’t think their terminal is stable enough to connect with me this far away. If you can’t do it, that’s okay!_

_Love,_

_Hadassah_

_[attached file: 3498572340293584850.image]_

* * *

Because she knew he’d appreciate it, Hadassah let Mordy lead the descent into the craft. He gave Hancock and MacCready a tour of the submarine’s safe areas while Hadassah stayed on the tower deck with the admiral himself. She clung to the dampening coils with both hands as Zao eyed them suspiciously.

“Now,” said Zao. “To restore total power and shut down the emergency generator, we need to use the dampening coils and obtain new fuel.”

“I was wondering about that,” Hadassah said. “Where are we going to get the right kind of nuclear fuel?”

“Ah, but that is the beauty of the Yangtze. You see, submarines of this class were built with many considerations in mind. Redundancies. Backwards compatibility. Interchangeable parts in many systems, so that when one thing fails, a less important system can sacrifice its resources. My…what are they calling you?” Zao glanced at Hadassah, questioning.

“Nora,” she said. 

“Nora has told me of something that has been stolen from her. A child. My local intelligence has told me that this Institute is behind many kidnappings. And even if there is no child, I will still help. For Nora. And for the Yangtze. The Institute may provide me with a way to fix the Yangtze enough for ocean travel again.”

“And _then_ what?” Hancock folded his arms.

“And then we will see,” Zao said. “Perhaps I will go back to China. Help rebuild. Or stay here. Help _you_ rebuild. We may not have peace, but our children deserve what peace we can give them.”

Zao was _good_ at this shit, Hadassah thought. Better than she’d ever been. Hancock and MacCready were eating this sap up like pancakes on a Saturday morning. And although she knew Zao well enough to tell when he was putting on a show, even she couldn’t quite pick out the truth from the lies. She knew Zao didn’t give a damn about kids--he’d barely spoken to his own--but for all she knew he really _had_ developed a conscience sometime in the past two centuries.

“Works for me,” MacCready said.

“One of my nuclear missiles did not fire,” Zao continued. “You will need to open it up, take out the nuclear fuel from the warhead, and insert it carefully into the reactor. Coils first, fuel second. _Carefully, in that order only.”_

“Sounds easy enough,” Hadassah said. “What about...you know, the others?”

“Ah, that is the problem.”

“Others?” MacCready edged away from the ladder.

“The ferals down there,” Hancock said. “That the rest of your crew?”

“They are,” said Zao. “I have not killed them, because they do not bother me. But perhaps they should be put out of their misery. _Maybe they will thank you for it.”_

“Wait,” Hadassah said. “So, ferals aren’t bothered by regular ghouls, right?”

“They’ll get a little frisky if a ghoul starts takin’ ‘em out and there’s a group, but yeah, they don’t go after us first.” Hancock got out his knife again and flipped it through his fingers. Hadassah watched it spin.

“I was thinking,” she said, “that maybe we could be a little more respectful about it. I mean, they were people once. They _are_ people. Just people who got really sick and lost their minds.” Hancock’s knife came to a sudden halt. “I know you don’t want to do it, Zao, but I was thinking...Hancock, maybe you could do it. With the knife, I mean. Really fast, right in the brain stem. If you took them out like that, then we could have a funeral for them. Or something.”

When she finished, four pairs of incredulous eyes stared at her. MacCready’s jaw was clenched and he looked like he wanted to tell her right where she could stick that idea. The other three looked at her with something like wonder. 

_“Haddie…”_

“What.” She clasped her hands behind her back to keep from picking at her nails.

“Most people hate normal ghouls, Miss Haddie,” said Mordy. “Much less the ferals. Nobody ever talks about them like they’re people any more.”

“Well,” she threw up her hands. “It was just an idea I had. We don’t _have_ to do it.” 

Hancock moved to where Hadassah leaned against a console. His smile, she thought, was the first real one she’d seen from him. “Nah, just caught me sleepin’ there. I’m in, Sunshine. This won’t take but a few minutes.”

Hancock descended into the depths of the Yangtze.

* * *

Though she’d worked with the Chinese navy, Hadassah had never actually attended a burial at sea. This one was a solemn production, with everyone playing a small part. Hadassah and Mordy put the coils and fuel in place immediately after Hancock finished, and even MacCready had helped by dragging the bodies up, grumbling in disapproval the entire time. She didn’t acknowledge it. His ghosts weren’t her business.

Zao, for his part, helped himself to whisky. He shared stories about each of the sailors by name as their shriveled bodies collected on the upper decks. Since his promotion, he hadn’t commanded this ship--a Rear Admiral’s responsibilities were much more broad--but many of the crewmembers remained after his reassignment. He’d had the opportunity to return to the Yangtze towards the end of the war, as this particular submarine had been used as a mobile command center. 

Hadassah recognized a few faces from her time reporting to Zao in person but tried not to look for too long. She took a couple pulls from the bottle in between corpse deliveries. It tasted atrocious, but achieved her aspirations of intoxication nonetheless.

A cloudy nighttime sky masked their ascent into fresh air. The Yangtze, Zao slurred, did in fact have a cloaking feature, but it had fried in the days after the war ended, damaged by fights with surviving American units. So the darkness offered the next best option for privacy.

“It’s what they would have wanted,” Zao said. Hancock had taken several shots himself and leaned drunkenly on the admiral. It was unclear who was supporting who. “Burial at sea. Good men, all of them. The best. Even that guy. That one, right there. Stole snacks from the pantry. Good man. Had a daughter. Three years old.”

The tide would pull the bodies out into the ocean, and from there who knew how they’d fare. Eaten by radfish, maybe. Or maybe they’d wash up on a distant shore untouched and give someone the scare of a lifetime. 

One by one, the charred remains of the Yangtze’s crew went into the water, claimed at last by the element they’d long called home. Zao addressed each one by name and rank, waving as they floated away; he was mimicked by Hancock, who’d gotten a bit misty-eyed himself. By the end of the night, Hadassah was sure, they’d either become best friends or murder each other.

When the last body left their sight, everyone filed back down into the tower like little soldiers, passing Zao’s whisky from hand to hand. The bitter lines on MacCready’s face had softened into contentment; he plopped himself onto a stool in the control center, staring into the middle distance as he lost himself in a memory. 

Feeling lonely and selfish about it, Hadassah bowed her head and reached out to her mate. He returned the loneliness she sent with some of his own; it felt sort of fluffy, like he’d been drinking, too. They slipped in and out of one another’s grasp with ease, neither of them digging their heels in for once. It was like a dance: an intangible, melancholy dance. When she opened her eyes she saw Zao looking back at her knowingly. There was a glint in his eyes, and without their bond she could only guess what put it there: malice, jealousy, irony? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“ _That fucker. Stole you from me. Hate his guts.”_

“I know, Hui. Let’s go downstairs.”

Hadassah led the group down the stairs into the larger mess, where she maneuvered chairs around until they could all fit at a single table. Zao stumbled to a cabinet and opened up a new bottle of whisky, pouring generous amounts into five glasses. Mordy looked deep into the glass, sniffed the contents, gagged, and then poured his into MacCready’s when Zao wasn’t looking.

“To the crew of the Yangtze,” Zao said.

“To the crew!”

The admiral shared a few more stories after the toast, his mood improving with each tale. It was nice, Hadassah thought, to remember the best times. Even if wartime had been punishing, there were still moments of brightness that cut through the dark. 

For every moment she’d spent thinking that there could never be anything normal between her and the admiral, there was a funny moment or an innocent outing. Something to keep her going, to pretend that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Something to prove that what they had was real and not just a convenience enjoyed by the Chinese military.

It was all a lie, of course. But it still felt nice.

“I wanted to be a preschool teacher, you know,” she told the top of MacCready’s head. He lifted up off of his folded arms to expose a single ear.

“Mmmph,” he said.

“Yeah. A preschool teacher. I’d stopped taking the soulmate pills when I was fourteen because of the church, but it took a long time for them to get out of my system. Met _that_ man right when I started college.” She pointed to Zao, who nodded with his entire upper body. “He was just some guy in a bar, then. _Very_ good-looking. Like, movie star cheekbones. Looked like Hu Ge. So hot.”

“Damn,” whispered Hancock. He was staring at the wall. He popped another mentat.

“ _So_ hot. I didn’t know who he was. I started going to anti-war rallies and shit and got in trouble. They sent me to a prison camp in Colorado. Just a little bit, just to scare me. Fucking shit-ass government. Stupid fucking military. Both of them. They’re all stupid.”

“Shit-ass...governments...fuckin’...taxes,” agreed MacCready. He slumped over in his seat, lowering his head into Hadassah’s lap. “Mmmmyeah.”

Mordy snored gently from the floor. Hadassah leaned down to check on him and nearly fell over in the process. All three men tried simultaneously to help her back up. When everyone finished untangling their limbs, she continued her story.

“That’s when they found me. A professor at my university was an informant for the Chinese. She knew I was with Zao. And that I didn’t like war and stuff. Took me into a special, secret building.”

“I _love_ secret buildings,” slurred MacCready.

“They blindfolded me to get in there.”

“So hot,” Hancock mumbled.

“And so I started working with them. They. The Chinese military. After that, they made me change my major. Mechanical engineering. So I could work for all the big, big important companies with all of the technologies and stuff. No more working with little kids. God, I really miss all the creepy shit the kids would say out of the blue. One kid told me he loved me so much he wished he could keep my face. I knew him for like ten minutes when he told me that.”

“Okay. Then what?” MacCready reached over and stole a mentat from Hancock.

“Then I did the thing. Did internships and stole the secrets they wanted me to steal. They said it was to stop America from doing the war. So I did it. But also I kinda liked it, which is bad, probably. I don’t know. I got a neat gun out of it.” 

She put Gun onto the table. MacCready picked it up and ogled it up close, squinting in the low light. 

“I also got this special stealth suit. Kinda looks like a onesie. It’s not all armored like the combat stealth suits. Doesn’t work, though. Clothes...broken. Can’t remember words.”

“Clothes broken.” Echoed Hancock.

“Clothes...broken.” MacCready swung his empty cup over his head in emphasis.

“I know a guy,” Hancock muttered. The knife was back out again, twirling. “Remind me in the morning. About the guy I know.”

“Mmkay.”

Hancock and MacCready crawled into the barracks and fell into separate bottom bunks. Zao hovered nearby, watching Hadassah with that glint in his eye. She stopped, considered her options, and then took Zao by the arm, walking the stumbling man back to his room on the upper deck.

She sat him on the edge of his bed and undressed slowly in front of him. His hands didn’t feel quite right, but when she turned the overhead light off it was like nothing had changed. The things that didn’t match up she could simply fantasize away in the darkness.

When she was naked he bent her over the desk and took her as passionately as he always had. The alcohol dulled her physical senses, so her mind took over what her body couldn’t feel. She clenched her jaw and set her feet, imagining another Hui Zao taking her in another time and place. The imaginary Zao was her favorite one, an idealized version of the real prewar Zao that took her to the really nice hotels when he had a spare moment to get away. 

“Don’t tell my wife,” he’d always said to her in the shower. That was their ritual. Always shower first. She’d never found out whether or not he was serious, if he’d really had a wife back in China. She knew he had a kid somewhere. Or maybe he had neither. Maybe it was one of his jokes again.

She didn’t come. She never did when she was this drunk. But the pressure of him moving in her made her moan nonetheless, as did the way he clutched her hips to the point of bruising as he finished inside her. An unfamiliar burn made its way out where he spilled, and she gritted her teeth against the pain.

_“Does he feel that, Haddie? Does he like it? Shit, I miss being able to feel you fuck other people. Should’ve savored that last one.”_

Hadassah bit her lip and took deep, steadying breaths as she concentrated. The soulmate had been sleeping, but her arousal and stress soon woke him up. First she felt his surprise and then his reflexive arousal. All normal. But as he continued to wake, he became confused, which ultimately gave way to a simmering jealousy. 

Once you got used to the way your soulmate felt, you could tell the subtle differences between masturbation and sex with others. But _he_ wouldn’t be able to tell at this point. He was new to her, and could only speculate. And speculate he had. 

_“Yes. Yes, he feels it.”_

_“Yes, what?”_

_“Sir.”_

And then her mate felt determined, of all things. Well, at least he was self-assured. Eventually he went back to sleep, and so did Zao, falling onto his cot with his dick still out. Another familiar sight.

Hadassah sat on the floor naked and cried for a bit, just because. Then she drank from the can of water on the desk and tucked herself into the drunken crescent of Zao’s body. She was always the big spoon. She woke up once a few hours later when her mate did, startled into consciousness by the strength of his determination. 

And then her mate began to move, cutting a path through the air like a falcon in stoop. 

He went slowly at first, then faster and faster, setting himself on a collision course with her, the Commonwealth, and everything in it. 

* * *

_United States Armed Forces Internal Network_

_ThetaBunker-Priority_

_To: RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian_

_Hadassah,_

_I passed on the schematics to the ghouls from the Slog three days after your message. They send their thanks to you and say they will begin their work immediately. In their latest package they included a novel, which I’ve been reading._ War and Peace _by Leo Tolstoy. Not my favorite, but interesting all the same. The author of the introduction made quite a few comparisons between the war of Tolstoy’s time and the Great War._

_In particular he mentions the idea of_ _home_ _as a place that follows us around, unbound to any specific place or time or construct. I’ve been thinking about that quite a lot lately. My Seamus was the best home I ever had, but even that home required building on an empty foundation. I had to work from the ground up. So did he._

_Nothing comes for free. Even your soulbond doesn’t come with a free house. People who don’t have the bond think it’s so easy, having someone out there already stuck with you. They think it gives you a head start on your relationship. I thought that way, at first. When I lost my soulmate young, what I felt even more than sadness was fear. Fear that I would never be able to connect with another person the way I did with him. I thought I could never fall in love with someone I wasn’t bound to, at least not in the same way. Not as much. I believed that my relationship with him was a house built and waiting for me to move in to._

_But it isn’t that way. It never was, and only when I was forced to build my own homes did I realize that. When you stayed with me and showed your kindness to a broken old man, I felt a little bit of that home that I’d built, again. I don’t think this old body of mine is quite ready for the journey back to the Brotherhood, but when it is I hope I have the chance to introduce you to my Seamus._

_Sorry for rambling on about things. When you’re old and stuck in a bunker, all you’ve got time to do is think and read the terminal dictionary._

_Ethan Brandis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is known that there are folks who wish to comment on things they have read, but do not know how to go about that process. Perhaps you are tired and your brain is dead. Perhaps you feel like you don't want to bother me. Perhaps you feel like what you comment isn't "good enough." Perhaps it is the Future and you feel like commenting on a fic from the Past is like accidentally liking a 10-year-old Facebook photo belonging to your crush.
> 
> Whatever the reason, here is my offer to you: comment prompts. At the end of chapters I will offer you a selection of things to respond to. Most of them will be dumb, because that is how I do. You are not obligated to use one or any of them. They are just suggestions for people who are going through one of the issues above. I love comments and respond to every single one.
> 
> 1\. Have you been inside a submarine? Isn't the raw sexual energy they exude just incredible? Like you KNOW people have gotten their freak on in that thing. It's the Navy, son.  
> 2\. Tell me about your post-apocalyptic weapon of choice.  
> 3\. Did you ever do the Zao quest in-game?  
> 4\. Is my dude Arthur ever going to fucking get laid? Spoiler alert: he will. Repeatedly. In g r a p h i c detail. On god we are earning that Explicit rating.  
> 5\. How fuckin ZAZZED are you to meet Danse & Co. next chapter?


	4. I am the technology guardian. Guardian of the technology.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local protagonist meets man with biggest eyebrows ever seen; local eyebrow king adopts filthy wasteland creature, will unlock its hidden potential or die trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am cracking myself up with these chapter titles

Zao wasn’t in bed with her when she woke up the next morning. Hadassah didn’t take any offense; he wasn’t one to sleep in or cuddle and, if she was being completely honest, his absence was a bit of relief. She didn’t regret sleeping with Zao, per se. As upset as her new mate had felt, she did not owe him loyalty or accountability. Sleeping with someone else before you met your soulmate wasn’t cheating unless you were a  _ hardcore  _ psuchological fundamentalist.

It still hadn’t felt right, though. She pondered the ramifications of this while taking a quick shower in the officers’ bathroom. The water, while lukewarm, had enough pressure for a good wash. While she combed out the length of her long hair, she considered the Church: a political powerhouse of an organization, one that had swept her up in their ways of thinking before she had even blinked. 

The Church influenced her tremendously in terms of her soulbond and logically she knew it continued to do so even now. Where most modern Americans in her time sought pharmaceutical solutions to their soulmate “problem,” American apostolic Christians favored a complete lack of suppression, chemical or natural. 

They saw soulbonds as an extension of God’s will. To deny one’s soulmate in any way was a terrible sin. God would forgive any sin, of course, but Hadassah always got the feeling from the pastors that God was a whole lot less forgiving of  _ that  _ particular sin. If you asked the pastor about it after the service, they would insist that God did  _ not _ rank sins--“Oh heavens no, what do you think we are, Catholics?”--but once again, Hadassah was left with the impression that there was a secret ranked list of sins that all preachers kept in their heads. 

All of that left her with a spectacular mix of theological and sociological slop that she’d never really had the time to sit and wade through, before. Now, it felt like there was nothing  _ but _ time. She just didn’t know what any of it meant: the guilt, the pills, suppression, Zao, and the bonds God or fate or something had forced her into with no consent. She finished combing out her hair and braided it up into a bun. When you had four feet of it, that was about the only hairstyle the wasteland allowed.

She found Mordy first. He sat at one of the tables in the mess, focused intently on a gun he’d disassembled. It kind of looked like...wait a minute.

“Mordy, that’s  _ my _ gun.” Hadassah put her hands on her hips in motherly disappointment, but as she approached Mordy from behind she had to admit the boy had skill. He’d taken her weapon apart with expert hands and appeared to be cleaning the parts with gentle precision.

“Sorry, Miss Haddie. Everyone was asleep and I got bored. It was  _ really _ dirty.”

She had to agree with him there. Still… “Where did you get the tools to take it apart? And is that a barrel modification? Those are pretty difficult, aren’t they?”

Mordy shifted his weight on the seat so that he could look up at her more easily. “I borrowed some things. From the Finches.”

Hadassah gave him a stink eye. “You stole it, you mean.”

Mordy shrugged. “You need a clean gun. And it was just stuff in the scrap heap.”

Hadassah sighed and decided not to press. Mordy was correct about Gun re: cleanliness. And if she’d been alone, she might have very well done the same thing. It wasn’t like she had enough money...caps...to cover any decent work done on Gun. But if she couldn’t be a good example for a kid to follow, then what the hell was she even  _ doing  _ out here? Who took a miraculous shot at remaking their entire persona and went with Crusty-Ass Layabout What Your Momma Warned You Of? 

The phrase, ‘I thought you were supposed to be a  _ former  _ raider _ ’ _ died on her tongue before it had a chance to be born. Because fuck it, man. It wasn’t a hill she felt like dying on today. 

“Where are Hancock and MacCready?”

Mordy pointed. “Upstairs. Sniper boy wanted to use the periscope.”

When she arrived at the upper level, Sniper Boy was indeed using the periscope, though he scrambled away from the viewer like it burned him as soon as she popped her head up. Hancock took advantage of this opportunity to seize control of the viewer under the watchful eye of Zao.

Leaving the sub was not the awkward affair she thought it might be. Zao didn’t offer a kiss or hug goodbye--that had never been his way--but MacCready and Hancock managed to peel themselves from the various buttons and dials after Zao promised them they could visit any time they wanted. Whether or not such visits would end with bullets in their ass remained to be seen. 

Mordy elected to stay on the sub a bit longer after handing Gun back over to its rightful owner, now gleaming with fresh oil. Zao didn’t seem to mind the company and as the other three members of the Odd Squad headed to the ladder, Hadassah heard Zao already barking out commands until the hatch closed up behind them. 

Hancock was true to his word from the night before, promising to take Hadassah to the Guy of “I know a guy” fame as soon as they reached Goodneighbor.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, friend,” Hancock said halfway through the journey. “If this guy can’t fix that suit of yours, then no one can.”

“If you say so,” Hadassah said. “I just hope I can afford the repairs. This suit isn’t cheap.”

“You just leave the negotiating to me, Sunshine.”

* * *

“Negotiating” turned out to be a lot more fun than Hadassah would’ve expected. Kent Connolly, a timid-looking ghoul from before the war, asked for a mere errand in exchange for fixing the suit. He’d worked for several prewar companies developing ballistic weave, he told her, and he was delighted to meet someone from his time who wasn’t “burned to a crisp” for once.

And all he wanted in return, he said, was a few pieces of memorabilia from the old Hubris Comics. Hancock wanted to go, of course, and MacCready insisted on accompanying them as well--free of charge! Codsworth arrived to round out the Odd Squad, no worse for wear and with a brand-new flamethrower attachment on one of his limbs.

Between Codsworth with his murderous modifications and Hancock with his horrific chem addiction, they cleared Hubris Comics in less than half an hour. Hadassah found and packed away the Silver Shroud memorabilia as well as a folded up Grognak costume that had Codsworth strangely enamored. MacCready ran around with an old pillowcase stuffing into it as many readable comic scraps as he could carry. 

Kent was ecstatic and paid them 100 caps each for the extra items. Her stealth suit wouldn’t be fixed for another couple weeks at least, but he gave her the Silver Shroud trench coat, strengthened with ballistic weave, to use in the meantime.

The subsequent wave of crime-stopping distracted Hadassah from thinking too hard about the Institute or her missing nephew; it was Hancock who gave her permission to forget, as he busied himself searching for information on her behalf. Hadassah had a feeling that the ghoul had gotten a little soft on her after the submarine funeral but, no matter the reason, she wasn’t one to snub free assistance.

On one fine day when nothing seemed to be going too terribly bad, Hancock pulled Hadassah into his office to talk. He’d poked around, he said, and his sources all thought with a case like Shaun’s that the Institute involvement was absolute. Given the details of the crime--breaking into a vault, people wearing hazmat--it just made sense. An old synth by the name of Nick Valentine was a good place to start looking for next steps, Hancock said. 

“Valentine and I go way back. Back to my Diamond City days. If anybody could help you find that kid, it’s Nick. Maybe he can get with your subnautical fella in uniform and help us find the Institute once and for all while he’s at it.”

“Should I go now?”

“Nah. Secretary says he’s out. He’ll be back eventually. I’ll let ya know.”

“Thanks, Hancock.”

* * *

After two and a half weeks of boredom permeated by bouts of short-lived violence, Kent finished the work on Hadassah’s stealth suit. He hadn’t done too many fundamental modifications, describing the original thing as “a work of art,” but he’d added some bits that made the suit more stealthy as an undergarment over which normal clothes could be worn. The stealth field would still include those clothes, so she wouldn’t have to worry about shucking her pants off if she got caught in a fight.

During her downtime, Hadassah often found herself on Daisy’s second floor. Daisy--Goodneighbor’s own general store owner and fellow prewar library-lover--had generously offered the space as a midday getaway zone to be used at Hadassah’s pleasure. Clearing Boston’s largest public library of super mutants was fair payment for a rare moment of silence in the Commonwealth. Plus, there was no one up here to make fun of her again for doing yoga.

Ample repose allowed for more than getting her daily core workout in. She found herself thinking about her mate more every day, and had to stop herself several times from reaching out. It didn’t seem fair to give him hope after hurting his feelings. And she knew now she  _ had _ hurt his feelings.

She found out like this. 

One tipsy evening after an hour of drunk yoga, Hadassah reached for the soulmate--the first reach since sleeping with Zao. And, she told herself, she was reaching only to sate the boredom.  _ Not _ because she was getting attached. 

But for the first time, he didn’t reach back right away. Instead, he waited five minutes, and when she was just about to give up, he made minimal contact. Just enough energy to reach back. He still felt happy she’d bothered, but there was a wariness that hadn’t lived there before. She hated the way he felt now, like a kicked dog happy to see you on principle alone. And even more, she hated feeling guilty for what she’d done. It shouldn’t have even  _ mattered. _ She wasn’t in the church anymore and for all she knew it didn’t exist. So why were their little rituals and theologies following her around like unwelcome ghosts?

Before the war, if you slept with someone who wasn’t your soulmate, you were in the majority. People took the pills or followed some other suppression philosophy, and that was that. It was only soulbond extremists who believed that being with anyone other than your soulmate was a sin of the worst order. Extremists, like the people at her old church, believed that even if you’d never met your mate, you were in the wrong for even  _ looking _ at someone like you wanted them.

Did people still think like that now? Maybe the churches had crumbled away but their core beliefs remained. After all, Brandis had implied that the modern Wastelander put quite a lot of emphasis on soulbonds. Bonds were rare now, and several nights at the bar in the Third Rail supplied Hadassah with a wealth of post-apocalyptic soulbond axioms and proverbs.

“If you find your soulmate, stick with them. You’ll be smarter the closer together you are,” said a caravan guard.

“You’ll be more fertile if you’re with a soulmate you can make babies with,” said a drifter. “Not like everybody else shooting blanks half the time from all the rads.”

“I know a guy who knew a guy whose cousin in the Glades was with his soulmate, and he could, like, see the future sometimes,” said a trader.

“Take your soulmate to the slots,” said a sex worker. “You get lucky when you’re near them.”

“They  _ have  _ to love you,” said an intoxicated MacCready overcome with directionless romantic passion. “Your soulmate always  _ has  _ to love you. Automatically. They can’t ever hate you. It’s  _ real _ . It’s so real. Love is  _ real _ , Nora.”

“Mum, none of these beliefs come up when I crosscheck with the Dolly Parton Soulmate Research Foundation Database,” said Codsworth, flambéing an ex-molerat on the old subway tracks. “I wouldn’t put any faith in these statements. They are likely the result of desperate hope for happiness and not enough proper education. Now, what are your thoughts on a brandy cream sauce with the rat? Too much?”

Stupid. The whole thing was stupid. Was she guilty because of misplaced emotional conditioning the Church foisted upon her? Or was she guilty because what she’d done was truly reprehensible? Had reaching out to him before been leading him on? Should she have shut him out permanently from the start? 

Few of her new friends had satisfying answers for her. Their opinions occupied extremes on either end that didn’t seem to fit. MacCready thought sleeping with Zao was terrible, on the same level as cheating outright, while Hancock thought it served the new guy right for thinking he had a right to be jealous. Codsworth, the only one closest to a neutral party, made the observation that if she felt this guilty, then perhaps she’d been thinking of her mate as more than a mere abstraction the entire time.

Unfortunately, these conversations meant that the soulmate occupied her mind in more ways than just the bond. She  _ stewed _ . When her brain decided she’d stewed on it enough for the day--her record stewing time currently stood at two solid hours--she’d leave Goodneighbor to run an errand for Hancock or Daisy. Or she’d exchange small messages rapidfire with Brandis about the book he was reading or he’d tell her some funny Brotherhood story from his past. 

Zao surprised her with a message one day after he’d gotten the communication booster back online. Sanctuary and the Slog kept her updated on the progress of various projects. Mordy stopped by two more times with miscellaneous items he thought Hadassah would like, cagy on the details of their acquisition. They were welcome distractions. 

_ You shouldn’t even concern yourself with all this shit, _ she told herself.  _ Your nephew is out there somewhere. _

Shaun...now there was a whole ‘nother conundrum. He didn’t feel real either at times, as though the horror she witnessed through frosted panes had been some sort of bizarre fever dream. Entire days went by where her nephew didn’t even cross her mind. Or her sister. Or Nate. Sometimes Hadassah had to concentrate to recall their faces, the sound of their voices, and their habits. They were melting away from people into abstractions the further away she got.

In contrast, Hadassah started thinking of The Mate as more of a person and less of an abstract the closer he moved in her direction. She’d given him a made-up face in her mind, with a made-up face and made-up habits. It was easier to think about him, in some ways. Since she hadn’t actually met him, she didn’t have to feel guilty about forgetting her idle constructions. 

And he  _ was  _ definitely moving in her direction. Too fast to be moving under his own power, so he was on some sort of vehicle. She noticed he had a pretty rigid daily schedule, too, now that she’d been paying more attention to him. Who  _ had  _ regular schedules these days? Certainly not the fine folk of Goodneighbor. Definitely not her.

Every day the soulmate woke up at 5:30 in the goddamn morning with his mind running a million miles an hour. As a sane human being, Hadassah was never up that early. The only reason she knew was because of the string of days when he thought it was a good idea to send her a sleepy good morning prod. At 5:30 in the  _ goddamn morning _ . She always fell right back asleep, but not before slapping him good across the bond with her irritation. His mind continued running at mach speeds for the next twelve straight hours; consequently, her snooping attempts frequently went unnoticed. 

He relaxed into a more thoughtful state at 6 PM. Reading, maybe. He always went to bed at 10 and reached out to her before falling asleep by a quarter after. His touches across the bond weren’t as carefree as they once were, but they became consistent, a measure by which she could calculate the time of day without looking at a clock.

She was cleaning rooms at the Rex for extra caps when Brandis’s message came.

* * *

_ United States Armed Forces Internal Network _

_ ThetaBunker-Priority _

_ To: RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ I was able to fix that old ham radio in here finally. Just heard an emergency signal coming from a police station downtown. Brotherhood, another recon team by the sound of it. Sounds like they’re up a shit creek with no paddle. _

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application _

_ To: ThetaBunker-Priority _

_ The AF95 signal? Yeah, sounds bad. I can hear the firefight going on in the background. If I get MacCready now, he and I could be there in an hour maybe and provide support. _

* * *

_ United States Armed Forces Internal Network _

_ ThetaBunker-Priority _

_ To: RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Can’t let you have all the fun. I’ve made up my mind to go back. It’s time. I’m at Tucker Memorial Bridge. Leave now and meet me at Union Hope Cathedral. _

* * *

She almost didn’t recognize him.

Hadassah and MacCready reached the rendezvous point and took cover on the church steps behind a burned-out bus. By that time, the sun was low enough to paint the Commonwealth with long strips of red and orange in between broken shadows from the half-collapsed buildings surrounding them. A figure approached shortly after and she raised her gun against the stranger, hidden by glare and dusk, before something familiar about the way he walked made her hesitate.  __

“I know I look a little better than when we last met, but I didn’t think it was  _ that _ bad.” Brandis walked to the side of the cathedral where Hadassah and MacCready waited. Taut, wiry muscles filled out the jumpsuit that he wore, a different one than the tattered uniform he’d donned in the bunker; he’d also cleaned up his combat armor so that it looked more gently used than roughly fucked. As it were.

He hadn’t put on that much more weight--it had only been a few weeks since she’d been in the bunker--but he emanated confidence and strength where before he’d reminded her of a plant wilting in the heat. He had the same gun but he’d given it a more thorough clean so that it gleamed in the dying light. And most startling of all, he’d had a thorough washing with a trim on top of that. 

Hadassah felt her face heat up. She held a hand out and Brandis shook it eagerly. “I’m really sorry. But yeah, you do kind of look like a completely different person. Who gave you the haircut?”

“It’s the Slog Special,” he said, patting the side of his head where the hair was trimmed short. “Took a bath and got a cut, and started running south.”

“They’re really nice people,” Hadassah said. “I’m glad they were there to help you get through it.”

Brandis smiled. “I might be old, but I’m still a soldier. When I die it shouldn’t be on a moldy mattress in some forgotten bunker. I have you to thank for reminding me of that.”

“Brandis, I will scour the entire earth for a king-size memory foam deathbed. You deserve it.” She deactivated the sensor, paying close attention to the length of time it took to fizzle out. The transition between shielded and unshielded was more fluid than it had been before, and she made a mental note to take any future clothing-related catastrophes to Kent and Kent only.

Brandis finished looking his rifle over and peered into a few of the boxes in the bus. MacCready had already gone through them; all that was left was trash. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

“Not that this isn’t heartwarming, but we’re kind of sitting in feral ghoul territory with our as--butts hanging out” said MacCready. He looked out across the plaza from behind the bus where they’d taken cover, sharp eyes scanning for movement. “We gonna do this, or what?”

Brandis transitioned smoothly from peer to commander, detailing a simple, straightforward run to the precinct that would take them west between buildings and out of the street until the very end. According to Hadassah’s map, there was an open area directly in front of the station, but distant echoes of ongoing laser fire meant that a more visible approach would work in their favor. They’d be able to flank the attackers from the rear, while lessening their chances of friendly fire if they came in unexpectedly from the side. 

Brandis asked MacCready to set up a sniper’s nest in the cathedral’s western tower and he immediately complied, making his way up through the cleared sanctuary in just a couple minutes. Even if he didn’t like the Brotherhood of “Squeal” very much, Hadassah thought, he respected good instinct when he saw it. 

Plus, he’d been told several times on the way over that if he played nice with Brandis that she’d let him put on the Grognak suit again for any additional vigilante-based favors Hancock decided to call in. 

Charred, abandoned vehicles made for good cover as she and Brandis darted closer to the station. The building had probably looked like a secure place to bunker down when the team first found it, but its close proximity to CIT and the river supplied the occupants with a nonstop stream of feral ghouls.

Ten seconds after Hadassah activated her stealth field and ran across the street, a ghoul’s head exploded just twenty feet away from her. MacCready. Hadassah crouched down between a barrier and a pile of garbage, focusing her incendiary fire on the ghouls coming in from the southern flank.

After five minutes, the stream of ghouls came to a stuttering halt, with MacCready taking out one more ghoul coming in from Hadassah’s side. She gave him a one-fingered salute and added that ghoul to her mental count anyway. When she saw Brandis stand up from behind the wall, she dropped the stealth field on her suit; he gave her a nod and gestured for her to wait as he crossed the street and stopped at the edge of the compound, hands still on his rifle but holding the barrel safely away from the direction of the recon squad. 

“Check your fire,” the man from inside called out. “We’ve got--Paladin Brandis? My god, is that you?”

* * *

Paladin Danse was his name. He was tall even out of his power armor, with dark, thick hair, sharp brown eyes, and a dirty face from weeks of “creative” solutions to the Bathing Problem. Hadassah gave him more than a few once-overs; it hadn’t escaped her notice that the average person in the Commonwealth had lost a few inches of height since the war, no doubt a result of malnutrition during childhood. Danse’s body, it seemed, hadn’t received the memo. He was at least as tall as Nate had been, putting him at over six feet.

Though the shock of seeing Brandis again did not appear to have worn off, Danse was quick to invite Team Brandis 2.0 into the station for a brief respite once the final wave of ghouls had been cleared. Wary of the Brotherhood, MacCready slunk off with hardly a look at the other Paladin, and Hadassah gave him a hug that the mercenary gladly accepted.

Inside the station, Hadassah helped the Brotherhood soldier in a many-pocketed uniform deposit her injured teammate, a stern-faced person with short-cropped hair, on a pile of sleeping bags. Paladin Danse drew a few chairs in a semicircle in front of the bags and gestured for her and Brandis to sit. The Paladin’s two squadmates appeared stunned by Brandis’s presence as well, but it was Danse who was most visibly moved to see him. The paladin alternated between staring at Brandis and looking anywhere else.

“I can’t believe you’re--” Danse ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered.

“Still alive? That makes two of us,” Brandis responded with an easy laugh. Combat was clearly good for his complexion  _ and _ mood. He accepted some water from Paladin Danse and took his time enjoying it.

“Your squad?” Paladin Danse said after a few moments of tense silence.

A muscle jumped in Brandis’s jaw, and he took Hadassah’s hand when she reached for him. The three Brotherhood squad members honed in on the movement like cats watching a fly on the wall.

“All dead, I’m afraid. We were ambushed shortly after insertion. Lost five knights after just six hours. Power armor reserves failed. Scuttled them, separated after that to try and cover more ground. Stupid mistake.”

Hadassah squeezed his hand, and Brandis gave her a small, sad smile.

“The rest of my team,” Brandis continued, “didn’t make it.” He pulled out the handful of holotags Mordy had delivered to him. “This one”--Brandis jerked his head in Hadassah’s direction--“found Scribe Faris’s body, and then found me. I wasn’t in any state to travel, then. I’d been alone for almost three years at that point, scraping by on grit, chance, and the mercy of the locals.”

“I’m sorry, Brandis. These past years must have been hard on you.” Paladin Danse looked like he meant it, his face lined with concern and empathy. 

“What about the rest of your squad, Paladin? What happened?” The many-pocketed soldier with the ponytail spoke up. 

“My friend here’d be able to tell you more about it, Haylen. Once she helped me, she found the rest of my squad’s tags and had them delivered to me.” Brandis put a hand on Hadassah’s shoulder.

“Mercenary?” Paladin Danse tilted his head at Hadassah, regarding her evenly.

“I’m not,” she said. “It’s simple, really. He was an old man--uh, sorry Brandis--and he needed help. Thought it would be nice to give him some peace of mind.”

The injured man in the orange jumpsuit spoke up from the floor. “Nobody does something like that just to be  _ nice _ . What’s your angle here?”

“Rhys.” A warning rang out clearly in Paladin Danse’s voice.

“No, that’s fair,” Hadassah shrugged. “Based on what I’ve seen from some people here, kindness doesn’t always rule the day. But, it ruled mine. When I came here I was helped by people who didn’t even know me and didn’t ask for much in return. I like to pay kindness forward.” 

And, she thought to herself, it was insurance for if she came back later needing something from the people she helped. But she didn’t need to voice that bit aloud. Altruism had much more PR clout than sensibility.

“And even if she did expect us to give her something in return--a sponsorship, perhaps--I’d say she’d be more than entitled to it, hmm?” Brandis folded his arms. “Most people out here can’t afford to do nice deeds, let alone tramp around the Commonwealth on the whims of a crazy man. And you’ve seen for yourself how capable she is in the field.”

Paladin Danse nodded thoughtfully. It was clear that whatever his relationship had been with Brandis before, he held a lot of respect for the older man. The injured soldier, Rhys, didn’t seem entirely convinced, but at Brandis’s dogged insistence defending her moral fiber Rhys appeared to waver. Finally, he looked away and shrugged, submitting to Brandis’s Stern Grandpa Gaze. It was firm and unyielding and said  _ you really shouldn’t be acting like that at  _ your  _ age, young man. _

“Well,” Rhys said, “we’ll see. Loner types don’t stick around for long, so if she’s still here in a week I might change my mind. Whoever the hell she is.”

“About that,” the third squadmate--Haylen?--piped in. “Maybe some introductions are in order, sir?”

“Oh, yes,” Paladin Danse sat up straight. A hint of red bloomed at the tips of his ears. “Thank you, Scribe Haylen. Paladin Brandis, perhaps you ought to, since you know everyone here…?”

“Right.” Brandis cleared his throat, and then turned to face Hadassah. “I notice you used a different name with your sniper friend. Is that what you’d like me to call you here?”

She’d nearly forgotten about that. “Yes, if you would, please.”

A nod. “This is Nora. She’s a very talented infiltration specialist and the best shot with a ballistics pistol I’ve seen in years. She also has a background in mechanical engineering. We met a few weeks ago in the old National Guard Theta bunker north of here. And you already know the bit about the holotags.”

Omitting the bit about her waking up from cryosleep could mean any number of things, but whatever Brandis’s reasons, she appreciated his silence.

“This here is Paladin Danse; you heard me speak with him earlier. These are his squadmates, Knight Rhys and Scribe Haylen, there. Knight Rhys is a Brotherhood soldier under his command. Haylen is a scribe. Scribe roles are more civilian in nature, relating to technology acquisition, research, and development. But scribes do go out into the field occasionally.”

Hadassah looked at each of the three in turn, studying them as Brandis described their roles. “So, the Brotherhood of Steel is like a formal military? Not a mercenary group?”

“Well, I don’t know who’s in charge of putting the  _ official  _ stamp on things these days. Old Uncle Sam isn’t really around anymore to formalize anything, least of all decide who gets to be a real military.” Brandis looked at Danse. “How’s that for introductions?”

“Thank you, Paladin Brandis.” He turned to face Hadassah. “And thank you, Nora. I’m not one to trust the word of a stranger bearing gifts, but Paladin Brandis doesn’t give praise lightly. Having seen your skills for myself, and given your assistance in finding the former members of Recon Squad Artemis, I can say you’ve more than earned that praise.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now,” Danse said. “I’m sure Paladin Brandis has already spoken to you about sponsorship, so I won’t give you the whole speech. You’ve seen for yourself how unforgiving the wasteland can be. You’ll be far better off with people with the resources and willpower to back you up.” His eyebrows lowered slightly and he leaned forward in his chair, all business. “Now, where did you say you’re from?”

Hadassah leaned back, her unconscious retreat halted by Brandis’s hand on her back.  _ Steady,  _ his eyes said. She took a deep breath, found her center. Reaching across the bond was a cheap way to get some comfort, but she did it anyway. The soulmate reached back, just like he always did. Consistent. Predictable.  _ Calm down,  _ she told herself. 

The fragile freedom she’d felt since leaving the vault wouldn’t break over one little group’s vague interest in her skills. Even if she felt uncomfortable involving herself in another military, it would be worth it if they had the ability to stabilize the region. And they could, perhaps, be valuable allies in her hunt for Shaun.

“We didn’t actually get a chance to talk about that,” Hadassah said. “Joining up, I mean. He mentioned looking for information on some group called the Institute. I may also be looking to find a way in, myself. For personal reasons. I was in a vault, and...well, I think the Institute may have been involved in something that happened there.”

“A vault?” Danse’s eyes flickered to Brandis before coming back to her. “Most people wouldn’t admit that. But, it does make sense, given your condition. And your equipment. One of the local vaults?”

“Yeah, Vault 111.”

“That’s one of the vaults still marked as sealed, sir,” Scribe Haylen leaned forward into the circle, turning away from where she’d been checking Knight Rhys’s bandage. “Records from Recon Squad Pike described it as untouched, with no communication or people going in or out. It was a cryo facility, from what I recall of the Vault-Tec records in the Capital Wasteland.”

“A cryo facility? As in cryogenics?” Danse leaned back in his chair a bit, eyes wide. “Does that mean…?”

Well. Surely it wouldn’t hurt letting them know a bit more. After all, she could still leave any time she wanted. And if it would encourage a little sympathy for her cause… She glanced at Brandis. He shrugged.

“I was born before the Great War, yeah. Lived through it. Saw the big boom. Went down into a vault and got put on ice.”

“Damn. So you really weren’t full of shit?”

“ _ Brandis. _ ”

“What?” The old man put his hands up in mock surrender. “I still liked you even when I thought you were rad-shit crazy. Paladin’s honor.”

“Gee, thanks. That’s  _ so _ much better.” She grinned at Brandis, leaning into his hand when he patted her on the head. Danse watched the exchange with calculating interest. Haylen, on the other hand, jumped to her feet in excitement.

“Oh, I have  _ got  _ to interview you for Proctor Quinlan! I don’t know if the Brotherhood’s ever had someone  _ prewar  _ before. And with your technical skills, you could--this is perfect! Can you--oh my god. Sorry.” Haylen extracted a notepad and pencil from one of her infinite pockets. “What’s been something you’ve missed so far? Was it really as easy of a life as people say?”

“Well, the church picnics were nice, but what I miss most are the weekly neighborhood human sacrifices. Oh, and my favorite bra and panty set with the glow in the dark galaxies on them.”

Haylen’s face went blank for several seconds as she took this in. Then she scowled. “Oh, I see. You’re teasing me. Well, then, I’m happy to let you know that the weekly human sacrifices are  _ my  _ favorite part about being in the Brotherhood. Really brings us all together as a family.”

Danse narrowed his eyes. “Scribe Haylen.”

“Sorry, sir. Just getting excited about the chance to learn history from someone who actually lived it. You will join up, won’t you? Questionable taste in humor aside, I think you’d be a great fit. Not many people would’ve stuck their necks out for a total stranger like you did for Paladin Brandis.”

Hadassah was glad to be sitting down or else she might have fallen over. “Well...that’s kind of a big offer to just make on the spot, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Paladin Danse said abruptly. He stood up, walking to his power armor and hitting the latch to open it up. “Before you make any sort of commitment to joining the Brotherhood of Steel, I feel it’s appropriate to run a more intentional survey of your abilities. Paladin Brandis, I’m sure you agree. While your assistance with the ferals was appreciated, I wasn’t able to fully observe your capabilities.”

He locked eyes with Paladin Brandis across the room. Some sort of understanding passed between them, because the old man nodded slowly, removing his hand from Hadassah’s shoulder. Danse looked to Hadassah. The intensity of his stare was hard to read, but Hadassah had the feeling she was being graded like a bad essay right there in front of God and everyone.

“I’ve been trying to send a distress signal to my superiors but we haven’t been able to establish a connection. The transmitter on the roof is too weak and Scribe Haylen doesn’t have the supplies to repair it. Your arrival with Paladin Brandis is fortunate for us, as we’ve managed to find the location of a deep range transmitter in the nearby ArcJet facility. I feel much more comfortable leaving my squad with another paladin here to stand guard. Our objective is to breach the facility, secure the deep range transmitter, and bring it back here so that Haylen can install it. With your engineering background, I’m sure you could lend assistance. What do you say? Willing to lend us a hand?”

“You want me to go with you, is what you’re saying? To ArcJet?” Hadassah looked to Brandis. For what, she didn’t know. Permission? Assurance? 

“You don’t have to,” Brandis said. “Of course, it would be really, really nice to get the hell out of this shithole as soon as possible, but if you get the transmitter and decide the Brotherhood isn’t for you, you can leave. It’s your choice. Oh, Haylen, stop squirming. You can still get your interview even if she doesn’t join up.”

Scribe Haylen flushed and resumed her treatment on Rhys, who’d been quiet as he observed the proceedings. Hadassah made a note to talk to her later. Nerd girls had to stick together in this bitch of a world.

Danse frowned at Brandis. “If that’s how you want to look at it, sure. But I don’t see how you’d want to continue scraping by for meager rewards when you could be making something of yourself instead. You could make good by yourself, possibly, but the Brotherhood can help you become great.”

Hadassah looked at Brandis. Brandis shrugged. 

“Okay, okay,” Hadassah said. “I’ll help.” 

* * *

_ Brotherhood of Steel _

_ Proctor Quinlan’s Workstation QN-448PR _

_ Notes on the Soulmate Project: the Evolution of Brotherhood Soulmate Culture _

_ [Excerpt 1] _

_ Letter from Elder Owyn Lyons to Head Scribe Rothchild on the subject of Jessica Maxson _

_ Brotherhood Archives Identifier 39478 _

_ Item Created: June 13, 2275 _

_ Access Restriction: Elder, Order of the Quill - Proctors, Head Scribe  _

_ Contributors to Authorship and/or Production of the Archival Material(s): Elder Owyn Lyons (Correspondent), Head Scribe Rothchild (Correspondent) _

_ Extent: 750 words (digital) _

_ [...] I have few things to say about Jessica Maxson other than to underline that her life was marred by tragedy and ostracization. It was not her fault that Jonathan died and it is ridiculous to suggest otherwise. Extremist views on soulbonds lead to situations exactly like the one which ended in her untimely death. You cannot for one moment convince me that her death was accidental. It was retaliation, plain and simple, carried out in rage. I refuse to raise her son [Squire Maxson] into the same backwards thinking that plagues those fossils out West. They think when the dry season comes that it’s because they aren’t screwing their mates well enough. We are stretched thin as it is out here and we cannot afford to fall victim to primitive thinking. It is wonderful to be at peace with one’s soulmate, as the Codex says, but it shouldn’t be the linchpin of all our customs and policy decisions. I will tell Arthur the truth when the time comes: that his mother was murdered out of spite because she was not Jonathan’s soulmate. I cannot in good conscience tell him otherwise.  _

* * *

The Paladin was all formality on the road to ArcJet, leaving Hadassah to her own thoughts save for the few times they had to deal violently with the locals. He gave positive feedback on her form, aim, and battle instinct, though he hadn’t been amused at  _ all  _ when she ducked behind his massive frame after he’d yelled at her to find cover. She didn’t mind the silence, as it gave her ample time to reflect on the events of the past few hours.

It was clear that the Brotherhood of Steel were well equipped and well trained--at least, the ones she’d met so far seemed that way. Ahead of her, a pack of three ratty-looking street dogs charged at Paladin Danse, who took them out with laser fire and a couple well aimed kicks. 

It wouldn’t, Hadassah thought, be  _ too  _ much trouble to look into the Brotherhood as an option to help her breach the Institute. She could fit in, certainly. After all, she did have experience being military. Sort of. Depending on the Brotherhood’s internal structure and operating procedures, it could be easy to assimilate while still retaining her independence. And, since the Institute was also one of the Brotherhood’s goals, she could use them to get inside and see once and for all if the Institute had Shaun. If it came to that. 

But if he wasn’t there, what then…? If they really were a formal military, it wasn’t as though she could just fuck off at that point to continue her search. She’d have to take out leave, and there was no telling if it would be approved... this was all turning out to be horribly complicated. 

ArcJet’s property was fairly clear of hostiles aside from a few disgustingly large bugs. Helping Danse rid the world of them forever was the work of a few minutes. Right as she reached for the door, he held out a giant metal forearm, fencing her in at the threshold. 

“Hold on,” Danse said. “We need to talk strategy before we go any further. We don’t know what could be waiting for us on the other side of that door.”

“Oh right. Sorry, I’m used to working on my own.”

“And who, exactly, did you work for?”

“Is that something you need to know?”

Danse sighed. “This mission will go a lot better if you cooperate with me. If you’re interested in becoming a part of the Brotherhood, you’ll need to get used to working as a team and taking orders from your superior.”

“Good to know.”

“Wonderful. Who did you work for before the war?”

A beat. “The Chinese. I was a spy. A communist spy. I had a sexy leather catsuit and cybernetic bugs embedded in my nipples and everything. I did honeypot shit.”

Danse closed his eyes. He sighed again. Hadassah imagined him counting to ten in his head.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

“Paladin Danse, come here! This way is only partly blocked by debris, and it’ll take us where we need to go faster. It connects to the other half of the building through a break room.”

“How do you know that? Did you work here? You worked for ArcJet?”

“For the Chinese, yes.”

“You gave the Chinese intel regarding ArcJet manufacturing and development?”

“Nah, I was just the office stripper. I distracted all the dirty capitalist scientists from their work. Oh look, my old Jenga box. Off-brand. Technically it’s a Babel Block Tumbling Tower Game. And it’s still got all the pieces!”

Sigh.

* * *

“Over here, Nora. Any time you come across an office area in a building like this, you should always keep an eye out for technical documents. Our scribes could put them to good use once reinforcements arrive.”

“What does that even mean?”

Sigh. “What does what mean?”

“‘Technical document.’ That’s a good one. I bet they tell the boots that because most of you wouldn’t know what to look for. They’re just hoping you pick up anything that looks complicated enough to be important. Do people still do the joke about crayons? I know that was the Marines but still.”

“I will have you know that--”

“Synths up ahead!”

Sigh.

* * *

“Paladin Danse, do you want me to scout ahead for this next bit?”

“What’s your strategy?”

“Invisible onesie.”

“Ah, yes. I did notice you’re in possession of a working Chinese stealth suit. In very good condition. Custom made, perhaps. Would you like to divulge its origins and how you acquired it?”

“I would not like to do that thing you just said.”

Sigh.

* * *

“A whole tunnel system linked through the supply closets. Fascinating. I assume you used these while you worked here.”

“You assume correctly. Look, here’s some fun stuff in this cache. Schematics from the Chinese for an EMP that targets power armor! The evil scientists here were trying to reverse engineer it to see how it works and maybe build one that targeted stealth suits. They were thinking of mounting it on low-flying aircraft to cover a wide range. Obviously there are numerous problems with a device like that, but they were really desperate towards the end, there. They  _ barely _ took back Anchorage. Americans never really let go of the shock-and-awe style strategies. That’s what lost them Alaska in the first place. In  _ my _ opinion.”

“I’ll take that.”

“Am I the “wrong hands” in this “can’t let that fall into the wrong hands” moment we’re currently having?”

Sigh. “That remains to be seen.”

* * *

Between her in-depth knowledge of ArcJet’s layout and the paladin’s overall competence, the two of them managed to reach the control room seventeen Paladin Danse Sighs after their initial entry. 

“And there she is. Transmitter. Want me to hold on to it?”

“Fine. We can head back to the station together,” Danse said. He began walking back to the elevator and stopped when he realized Hadassah wasn’t following.

She gestured to the piles of dead synths around the room. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Other than me almost charbroiling your body like a tin foil wrapped potato. What’s your assessment? Do I get an A?”

“It wasn’t the worst sweep I’ve been in,” Danse admitted. He propped the elevator door open with his foot to keep it from returning to the ground floor. “With your familiarity of the building, we were able to move quickly and avoid getting caught unprepared.”

Hadassah tilted her head. “But? I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

“I still want you to think about joining the Brotherhood,” Danse said after a pause. “You have good instinct in combat and you have a clear talent for infiltration. Though, I will divulge to you that the Brotherhood doesn’t tolerate the use of stealth technology except in very specific cases. You’d be expected to perform in the field without the use of the suit, which you’d be asked to hand over to the scribes.”

Hadassah scowled at him, but Danse continued unbothered. “I admit I am quite concerned about your lack of respect for authority and tendency to lie about critical details regarding your identity and history. I don’t tolerate that sort of behavior from my subordinates. If you were anyone else, this would be where we part ways. The Brotherhood  _ is  _ always looking to recruit good soldiers, and if we can verify this story about your involvement in a Vault-Tec cryogenics program, then your knowledge would be invaluable, as well. But if you continue to lie and avoid following orders, the potential drawbacks of your recruitment would outweigh the benefits.”

“Sounds like you’re ready for me to move on, then.”

Danse held up a hand. “I’m not finished. In spite of your...colorful personality, I watched the way Paladin Brandis behaved around you and how you responded to him. It was quite clear to me that you respect him and value his safety and wellbeing, and that he trusts you in return. I’ve known Paladin Brandis for as long as I’ve been a part of the Brotherhood and it’s not easy to earn his trust. And because I trust Brandis, I’ve decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. For now. But I sincerely hope that you consider a change in character. I won’t admonish you for your interesting sense of humor when you’re off duty--I recognize the importance of releasing tension--but during an active mission it’s important that you stay focused on the objective and keep a level head.”

Hadassah's gut reaction was to pout, but that wasn’t going to get her anywhere...and unfortunately Paladin Danse did have a point. Whether or not she would take his advice into consideration remained to be seen.

“This is the first time I’ve worked with another person so closely,” she explained, willing the whine out of her voice. “I’m not used to having to keep track of anyone besides myself. I’m either alone or I’m a distraction. Teamwork is not my strength.”

“I can see that,” he said without malice. 

They were about halfway back to the station when a thought occurred to her.

“Paladin Danse,” she said. “You mentioned that the Brotherhood would value my prewar knowledge. But you already have access to that, don’t you? Ghouls exist. Why not ask them?”

Danse looked askance at her. “Unacceptable.”

“Why?” She kicked at a small rock in the road, watching it bounce away down the grassy knoll bordering the ruined asphalt. 

“Ghouls can’t be trusted. Any one of them could go feral at any minute from the effects of their transformation. The same radiation that affected their external appearance has undoubtedly impacted their minds in ways we can’t see. Any information prewar ghouls have on their experiences is therefore untrustworthy as a primary source.”

Hadassah stopped walking. “You’re talking about them like you think they’re not even  _ people. _ ”

Danse paused in the road up ahead of her, his expression obscured by the blinding light of the sunset. “This isn’t the best time for a philosophical discussion. Let’s get back to the station and figure things out from there.”

“...Okay.”

* * *

By the time they returned to the station, it was well past sunset and both Haylen and Rhys had gone to sleep. Brandis was still awake, poking around on the terminal when Hadassah walked up the stairs. Danse stayed behind to remove his power armor just inside the door; the armor would function as a barrier to attack, in the event the door was breached.

“Set up a cot for you in the back room, there. Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve had a long day.” Brandis took the transmitter from her and set it on the table. Now it was Hadassah’s turn to sigh. It turned into a yawn as she crept over the debris in the adjoining room and flopped over onto the cot. She kicked off her boots without looking to see where they fell. 

“We should discuss how the mission went, Brandis,” said Paladin Danse in the other room. She could hear him making his way up the stairs and over to the terminal area, where a metallic scraping sound indicated he’d picked up the transmitter to inspect it. “I’m having trouble getting some of the more critical details out of her. It’s important to be as detailed as possible in the field report in order to provide…...what?”

Shadows moved across the wall, Danse’s imposing silhouette joined by Brandis’s more lithe form. The Brandis-shadow motioned for Danse-shadow to follow, and Danse obliged, trailing after Brandis until their shadows had completely disappeared and Hadassah had to strain to hear their voices. Bits of conversation floated by, phrases coming into clarity here and there but fragmented.

“--just trying to give her some structure. I know she assisted--doesn’t mean she can be trusted--”

“--performance at ArcJet? --be biased because of the association with--”

“--not about that, Brandis. If she’s trustworthy then why is she--and refuses to tell me--”

“--a rest for now--fighting a battle you can’t see.” 

Light, quick steps heralded Brandis’s return. He didn’t step into the room again, but reached in to turn off the overhead lights. Paladin Danse must have had more to say, because Hadassah remembered hearing his voice afterward, but she fell asleep before any of it could stick.

* * *

Haylen led the transmission repair the next day, since she was more familiar with communication technology than Hadassah. For her part, Hadassah was content to watch and learn. She found Haylen to be an engaging conversationalist on any number of topics. The other woman didn’t even mind Hadassah’s exaggerations about prewar life; Haylen had managed to suss out when Hadassah was lying so quickly Hadassah thought she should’ve felt insulted.

Brandis came up to the roof as both guard and eavesdropper. He chimed in with a comment here and there but mostly was content to let the two women chatter away until the transmitter repair was done for the day. It would need a couple more days of work, Haylen said, but with Hadassah’s help she thought it would be up and running by the end of the week.

When she wasn’t helping Haylen repair the transmitter over the next couple days, Hadassah wandered through the station, poking her nose into every little crevice. Danse seemed content to let her wander with only an occasional side-eye. Rhys, on the other hand, had a habit of appearing behind her like an angry ghost to demand she explain her presence in the bathroom, in the cells, in the stairwell, and so on. 

Hadassah quickly found that the trick with Rhys was not to give in to his negative attitude. He probably expected her to react badly to his biting comments or to egg him on with some of her own in return. On day three of the transmission repair, he cornered her once again in one of the corner offices, demanding to know when she was planning on robbing the squad blind and fleeing to Goodneighbor to live like a pirate queen. 

Hadassah clasped her hands behind her back, ready to inform Rhys, sweetly, how  _ hurt _ she was he would say such a thing and would he  _ please _ try to be more mannerly in the future...when she noticed the raging boner that his jumpsuit did absolutely nothing to hide. Well.

Hmm.

Five minutes later she was bent over a desk with Knight Rhys pounding into her from behind. It took all of her concentration, but she managed to keep her end of the bond fairly stable throughout. Her pleasure suffered somewhat for her lapse in attention but overall she had a fabulous time. 

She still wasn’t sure how she felt about her guilt, but what happened with Zao had already happened and doing the same thing again wouldn’t make the bad thing worse...right? In fact, she thought as Rhys finished and pressed his lips between her shoulder blades, a repeat performance went a long way towards making her feel  _ better _ about everything.

It certainly made Rhys feel better, shit. His prior concerns vis a vis thieving and absconding dissolved into thin air, and while he wasn’t exactly polite to her afterward, the more acerbic edges of his personality softened into mere bluntness. Hadassah didn’t miss the smirks Haylen and Brandis made no attempt at hiding. She certainly couldn’t miss the way Danse narrowed his eyes at her, looking miliseconds away from launching into a lecture on safe wasteland sex or the importance of consent or something. 

But, as Hadassah had found yesterday, the best cure for team tension was several rounds of Jenga. Even Paladin Danse smiled for Jenga.

* * *

_ 扬子-三十一 _

_ Officer Mail Terminal  _

__

_ Fr: Rear Admiral Hui Zao _

To:  _ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Communication set and stable on the Yangtze. I’ve been able to fix many of the more sensitive systems by communicating with that Minutemen engineer you suggested. He’s no expert in naval systems but his assistance was nonetheless welcome. He’s apparently working on something “real big,” in his words, but as soon as he has the time I requested he come to the Yangtze with that Mordy child after he delivers supplies to that neighborhood you used to live in. _

_ Anyway, wanted to fill you in on my tentative plan moving forward. I’ve been able to measure and analyze several pieces of data likely connected to the Institute: the bird-watching cameras you mentioned, some EMPs my sensors caught that are far too advanced for a wastelander to be in possession of, and other abnormalities. My thought is this: that if the Institute is advanced enough to waste their resources on this frivolousness, then they must be in possession of technology capable of vastly improving the lives of those left in the shadow of the bombs. And, critically, they must also be in possession of technology capable of repairing the Yangtze enough for long-range ocean travel. _

_ It is no secret to you that my thoughts turn more and more to China every day. I want to return home in a way I’ve wanted few other things. The choice to journey with me is yours, though of course you must know it’s what I always wanted for us. You don’t have to answer right away, or even acknowledge this part of my message. I know the new mate has sunk his teeth into your mind, unwelcome and confusing. Have your fun. You are not beholden to me in any physical way and you may conduct yourself in whatever manner you choose in order to further your mission. I will wait. _

_ I digress. In order for the Institute to produce the technology they’ve produced, I believe they have a working nuclear generator. This is the key to finding them. Nuclear generators need clean, filtered water to run, and they also need a place to drain and recycle the water used. If we develop sensors that measure key elements of water quality, we can then install them in the waterways to find the Institute’s drainage pipe. They must have one. If they are not above ground, then they are below it.  _

_ Continue working with the Brotherhood and report back to me what you can. Though I believe they will ultimately prove a distraction to our mission, their support and resources will prove valuable as we move forward.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yangtze-31 is the sub's formal name in the game canon, which is what the Chinese characters say in Zao's message.)
> 
> Danse is Daddy in this fanfiction, but like literally. The Father Vibes are strong. I picture him like in his mid-30s seeing the absolute wreck of early-20s Hadassah and then making it his life goal to encourage her to make good choices, like using condoms and not doing drugs and shit. He is concerned that Hadassah may not be getting enough vegetables in her diet. He is not trying to smother but WOULD appreciate a quick text to show she made it to her destination safely. 
> 
> COMMENTS.
> 
> 1\. Have you ever thought it was super strange that Squad Gladius are dying dramatically, like, a fifteen minute walk from Diamond City/Goodneighbor? There's probably people in DC pickin up that emergency signal like "Harold, those Steel Brothers are at it again. I think another one of them is dead." "Should we do something, Phillip?" "No...no. No."  
> 2\. Two more chapters until Arthur Maxson. What are his first words to Hadassah going to be? It will NOT be the entire script of the Bee Movie and that's all I'm willing to divulge at this time.  
> 3\. Thoughts on the gradual unveiling of the BoS's philosophy on soulmates and how it's shifted over the last two centuries.  
> 4\. If you owned a submarine and could take it anywhere, where would you go?   
> 5\. What tabletop game do you hope survives the apocalypse?


	5. Welcome to bible study, we’re all children of Roger Maxson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local protagonist continues fucking Rhys in spite of having several reasons not to, local Maxson dabbles in podcasting, local wasteland grandpa helps a bitch keep personal business to self

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are many different Danses in Fallout 4 fandom, and many interpretations of his sexuality and sexual behavior. It consumes us all. Even Pliny the Elder once asked: “Does Danse fuck?” Well, I will just let you know here and now that This Danse fucks and loves to fuck (never direct subordinates because he is Responsible™) but it is none of your business, Hadassah. This Danse may love to fuck but he does not kiss and tell. Ask Brandis if you really cannot help yourself. He knows too much about everyone but the price will be steep. And I’ll let you in on a little something else: Rhys only ever really fucks himself. He’s the Narcissus of genitalia.
> 
> If you are not interested in watching Hadassah fuck Rhys, you may skip the scene, which is marked with a tilde (~) where it starts and finishes. Rhys will be disappointed because he wants you to watch, but his kinks are not your responsibility.

Jenga soon became a squad favorite at the Cambridge Police Station. Even Danse admitted the boost in morale had been quite impressive, despite his earlier reservations. At least, that’s what Hadassah thought he was trying to say underneath all the multisyllabic words. 

The paladin was growing on her, though. Although she typically avoided authoritarian people, Danse’s earnest compassion shone through his stoic exterior and endeared him to her in ways his words alone hadn’t managed. He also had amazing hair, which was technically not important but did earn him points in her favor.

Haylen’s admiration of her squad captain was clear. Hadassah spent quite a bit of time with Haylen fiddling with the signal tower on the roof, as well as fine-tuning the frankenstein of a generator Haylen had managed to get working to power the damn thing. 

Though most of their conversation during these moments necessarily pertained to the work at hand, Haylen would inevitably mention something Danse had said or done that she admired. Recon Squad Gladius’s trip into the Commonwealth had been a rough one--though not as catastrophic as Artemis’s short-lived tenure had been. According to Haylen, Danse was the emotional rock for the team, pushing them forward through catastrophe after catastrophe in a resolute path ending at the Cambridge station.

Hadassah had already snooped through the team’s terminal entries--if you considered using the terminal in broad daylight in front of a scowling Rhys “snooping”--and knew about the deaths of the other team members. Unlike her own relatively smooth introduction to the wasteland, the Brotherhood’s multiple entrances to the Commonwealth had been marked with tragedy. Out of three recon attempts, there’d been one successful mission, another total failure, and a near thing to balance it all out.

She also learned a bit about their mission--the entries confirmed the team was indeed looking for signs of the Institute--and also that their Elder had an unbalanced soulbond, like her. Haylen, when Hadassah asked, had said this information was only germane to Gladius’s work because the Brotherhood knew the soulmate was somewhere in the northeastern Old United States. It wasn’t likely they’d run across the soulmate, but all teams kept the information on hand as a reminder to be on the lookout for signs. 

Sometimes, Hadassah found herself staring out the window, wondering how differently things might have ended up for her had she not been taken in by Codsworth almost immediately after leaving the vault. Maybe she’d have ended up like this, cornered and desperate. Or dead.

Four days after her arrival, the topic of ghouls came up during a game of Jenga. Haylen announced to the group that, unfortunately, it would be longer still until the signal could be fixed. The transmitter worked beautifully but there were a few other parts on the device that now needed to be repaired or replaced entirely to account for the increase in power output. Hadassah, thinking of Daisy and her caravan trains, suggested Goodneighbor as a good place to start. Daisy had encyclopedic knowledge of every good scrap spot in the Commonwealth.

This led to a rather heated discussion on ghouls, for although none of the Brotherhood soldiers had been to Goodneighbor, they all knew _of_ it. And they knew of its demographics. Rhys was disgusted by both stable and feral ghouls and didn’t care who knew. In his opinion, Rhys said, all ghouls were either dangerous or could become dangerous and he didn’t think there was a meaningful distinction between the two.

Paladin Danse agreed with Rhys, to a point. He personally found ghouls distasteful, but struggled with what role ghouls played in the wasteland. He shared Rhys’s general concern that all ghouls were inherently dangerous because they _could_ become feral; however, Danse just as strongly disapproved of violence against them unless absolutely necessary.

Haylen seemed less inclined to share the full extent of her opinions--a mindset that may have been influenced by wanting to avoid agitating her opinionated teammates. However, winning a round or two of Jenga bolstered Haylen’s confidence enough to speak her mind and she did so rather plainly.

“Ghouls are people, too,” she said as she watched Danse reform the tower. “I think it’s awful the way people treat them like outcasts when it’s clear that they’re sick. I knew a few before I joined and they were just like everyone else.”

“You always leave ferals out of your little sympathy parties, Haylen,” Rhys said. He removed a block from the tower smoothly and placed it on top. “You can’t ignore the fact that any one of them could become a mindless killer at any moment.”

“Well, so could any of us,” Haylen insisted. 

“Yeah, but that’s just a possibility. With ghouls it’s a certainty. With how long they live, it’s inevitable. I say, why draw things out?”

“Rhys, that’s awful,” Haylen said. A deep boom from someone’s Fat Man sounded off in the distance, and the tower quivered before settling again. “I mean, that’s practically old world eugenics at that point.”

“I agree,” Hadassah said, always excited to contribute to arguments. “There’s a settlement made up entirely of ghouls in the Commonwealth and they helped me get settled when I was just a couple days out of the vault. Gave me food and shelter and didn’t ask anything of me but a small errand. They also basically kept Paladin Brandis alive for two-and-a-half years.” 

Hadassah moved a block to the top of the tower. “I’ve been talking to a few ghouls, actually,” she continued, “and if I ever get my shit together long enough to set up some kind of research program somewhere, one of the things I want to focus on is why ghouls turn feral. Apparently ultra high doses of radiation are the most reliable way, but the Slog seemed to think that the ghouls’ mental state had something to do with the likelihood of turning. I dunno, I just came up with it this morning. Haylen, thoughts?”

Haylen looked fascinated at the idea. She moved another block to the top of the tower. “That sounds like a worthwhile endeavor. Maybe we’d know once and for all. Once Elder Maxson came to power, he made shooting non-feral ghouls a crime. Before it was, you know, kind of _implied_ that you didn’t do that, but any time a Brotherhood soldier “accidentally” shot a ghoul, it was never looked into. Now they have a lot more protection, even though people aren’t exactly comfortable around them. You know, the Midwest chapter of the Brotherhood over by old Chicago allows non-feral ghouls into their ranks. I bet if you contacted them they’d have something interesting to say.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hadassah said. Across the table, Rhys glared at her. “ _What,_ Rhys.”

“You didn’t...mess around with any of those things, did you? Do I need to get myself checked?”

Hadassah felt her face turn bright red. She usually wasn’t one for shyness, but there were _boundaries._ Shit, man. Haylen whacked Rhys on the shoulder, while Danse merely shook his head slowly, whether at Rhys’s comment or Hadassah’s hypothetical sexual exploits, she didn’t know.

“I’m just sayin’,” Rhys muttered, rubbing his shoulder.

Now it was Hadassah’s turn to glare. “I mean, is there an _actual_ problem with that or is it just the idea that disturbs you? Because if it’s the second, then you can just--” 

“Engaging in sexual activities with ghouls can be hazardous due to radiation exposure and exposure to unique chemical compounds in and on their bodies that likely developed to sustain their altered physical forms. The most common ailments include genital lesions, itching and swelling of the genital and/or mouth areas depending on method of contact, and mild nausea in severe cases,” Danse said.

Everyone stared at him. A flush started somewhere at the bottom of his neck and began to make its way up.

“I...read that somewhere. Terminals. Knight-Captain Cade--he--”

“ _Anyway_ , I don’t have any of those problems,” Hadassah said firmly. “So you should be fine, Rhys.”

“Wait, so did you or did you not fuck a ghoul before we--”

_“Knight Rhys._ If there is _any_ thing further you have to say on the matter, _please_ seek out such conversation in privacy. ”

“Sir.”

* * *

Hadassah wasn’t in the police station at all times. Unlike the others, she bore no real burden of duty and could come and go as she pleased. Always, she let Brandis know where she was going and when; in spite of Brandis’s dogged insistence that he was completely fine, she did not miss the look in his eyes when he went looking for her in the station thinking she’d unexpectedly departed. 

When she had the time, she sat with Brandis and asked him stories about his youth in the Brotherhood and his time as a scout. She enjoyed the stories and they also helped ground the old man in the present. 

Sometimes her departures were on Haylen or Rhys’s behalf. Haylen delighted in Hadassah’s technical know-how, because here was an errand girl she could give _specifics_ to. None of this “pick up any technical documents or stuff that looks high tech” shit. If she wanted a specific database downloaded, Hadassah could _get_ that. 

Haylen had also taken the time to research the materials she’d brought with her from the Capital Wasteland on the Commonwealth, specifically the local vaults. This allowed her to confirm that Vault 111 had indeed been a cryogenics experimentation vault. Her search also gave validity to Hadassah’s story in the eyes of the group, though of course the Brotherhood would have to do a sweep and retrieve in the area for any final assurance. 

As far as Hadassah could tell, Rhys didn’t delight in anything but killing ferals. But, after her third successful feral run, she’d graduated in his eyes from waste of time to mild annoyance. Sleeping with him had not softened any of his edges and that suited her just fine. In her mind, this dalliance was entirely temporary and though she hadn’t exactly had a Talk with Rhys, she got the impression that he felt the same. They’d had an awkward conversation about protection in case of future dalliances, proceeded to engage _in_ the future dalliances, and that was that.

Paladin Danse...was Paladin Danse. Hadassah nursed an exasperated affection for the man, a complicated sort of feeling that she sometimes saw warring on his own face. Where tactics and ethics were concerned, they were quite different people; it was their shared compassion for Brandis that did the most work in establishing their early relationship. 

Danse still sometimes lectured her on her impulsiveness, on her silly lies, and on her penchant for asking neither forgiveness nor permission. In none of these moments was he angry, just disappointed, which was somehow worse even though she’d known him for just a few days. The dedication he inspired in his team was contagious.

She made a habit of meditating every morning and night and would not explain her reasons for doing so to Recon Squad Gladius beyond polite evasions. Brandis had warned her about keeping her soulmate status close to her heart, as had Mama Murphy. At the time, she hadn’t really understood why. But there was something about the Brotherhood that unnerved her enough to exercise caution. 

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was _missing_ something.

The soulmate had changed nothing in his rigid daily habits aside from an increasing feeling of determination and he continued his steady approach from the south. The more time passed, the closer he got to the Commonwealth and Hadassah knew almost by instinct that he was trying to find her. _Or do any number of other things that have fuck all to do with you,_ her malnourished humility pointed out. His life didn’t _have_ to revolve around her. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe he just wanted to fuck her and leave.

But she knew better. She knew better because there had been a night he reached out to her and she responded with the strongest sensation of _go away_ that she could muster and his response was not confusion or hurt but an exasperating smugness. _You can’t hide for too much longer,_ he seemed to say back.

Hadassah slept in her stealth suit that night. Just in case. 

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Proctor Quinlan’s Workstation QN-448PR_

_Notes on the Soulmate Project: the Evolution of Brotherhood Soulmate Culture_

_[Excerpt 27]_

_Correspondence between Elder Sarah Lyons and Head Scribe Reginald Rothchild concerning the Soulmate Priority Initiative_

_Brotherhood Archives Identifier 48295_

_Item Created: March 3, 2278_

_Series: Terminal Correspondence between Elder Lyons and Head Scribe Rothchild_

_Access Restriction: Elder, Order of the Quill - Proctors, Head Scribe_

_Contributors to Authorship and/or Production of the Archival Material(s): Sarah Lyons (Correspondent), Reginald Rothchild (Correspondent)_

_Extent: 469 words (digital)_

_I understand what you’re saying. I really do. But right now what we need isn’t logic or reason, it’s passion. I won’t pretend to know everything about soulbonds or the way they work, but right now we’re looking at yet another schism. The Outcasts were clear in their condemnation of my father’s practices on soulmates. Did my father’s refusal to balance with his mate contribute to the Brotherhood’s downfall or was it his policies? Or was it chance, or fate? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Outcasts_ _believed_ _it was my father’s soulbond policies that brought us down. It was by those beliefs that they left, and even if those beliefs are hiding other, truer reasons, we are in this conundrum regardless._

_You and I look back on the past twenty years and see a combination of poor resource management, ineffective leadership, infighting, inclement weather, and bad luck leading to where we are now. But the truth hardly matters to power hungry demagogues like Casdin. I knew him. He is far too cunning to believe even half of the drivel he spouts, and too wise in the ways of human nature for his lies to be scoffed at. Many of my officers seem to think that with enough time, people will see the stupidity inherent to the soulbond conflict. They think it is enough to present facts in a logical manner. That reason will win the day. But believe me when I say that belief and emotion are_ _far_ _more powerful than mere facts._

_Even those who remained after the Outcasts are muttering in the halls about soulsickness spreading from the soulbound to the bondless. If you recall, this was one of Casdin’s primary talking points towards the end. People_ _believe_ _in the real, physical effects of the bond and the fact that most of it is superstitious nonsense hardly matters if people are deserting over it anyway._

_We have the potential to outlast the Outcasts. But we_ _cannot_ _survive another mass desertion. It’s imperative that we return to the more traditional mindset concerning soulmates in order to stabilize the Brotherhood. I’m_ _not_ _saying we bring back Roger Maxson II’s more radical ideas; however, I think we can change some hearts and minds by revamping our emphasis on finding Arthur’s mate and vocally underscoring our focus on bonds. As you know my soulmate is already dead, so we stand the best chance of survival if we focus on Arthur. My father and I had hoped to relieve him of the dynastic pressure that the Western elders unfairly foisted upon him, to give him a normal childhood and young adulthood. But every way I look at what lies before us, I have no choice. His bond will become a symbol around which we all rally._

_S. Lyons, Elder_

* * *

One and a half weeks passed. The communications array still wasn’t fixed, but Daisy assured Hadassah that the part Haylen needed would arrive shortly by caravan in Goodneighbor. When Hadassah wasn’t running errands for the Brotherhood or watching Hancock snort interesting substances off of his desk, she amused herself in a variety of ways. One of these ways was having more sex with Rhys even though most of the time she fantasized about drop kicking him into the Atlantic.

On this particular day, she’d really outdone herself with the seduction. Rhys had been doing some bullshit on the terminal--the other three were similarly occupied elsewhere in the station--and she’d just gone up and said, “Hey, you wanna go have sex in the garage or something?” 

~

Real impressive stuff. But it got the job done, and here she was with her shirt off getting her breasts serviced by a skilled titty mechanic, so who was the real winner here? 

“You’re completely ridiculous,” Hadassah said. The reinforced concrete wall in the garage was cool against her back, a grounding sensation to balance the heat coursing through every other inch of her body. 

“And yet here you are,” Rhys said. He peeled the rest of her clothing off until all that remained was her underwear, a cute and impractical little thing from a box of other cute and impractical things that Hancock had sent her way via caravan. (He did not remember this the next time she saw him.) 

“Here I am,” Hadassah agreed. She made a surprised sound as Rhys dropped his head to her neck, pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of her throat, and ran his teeth along the ridge of her jaw. His hands ran up and down the length of her torso. His thumbs brushed over her nipples on every upward stroke. Any attempt she made at returning the favor met with resistance, so she rested her hands on his shoulders. If he wanted to play the generous type this time, she wasn’t going to stop him.

“Having fun?” She reached for the zipper on his jumpsuit and he let her slide it down to his waist this time. Cool air seeping in from cracks around the garage door made her shiver as Rhys took one of her breasts in his mouth, warming the skin there with his tongue. She hummed her approval, mindful of the way sounds could carry through the locked door.

He released her nipple and pushed away from the wall. With no visible effort, he picked Hadassah up by the waist and deposited her on a nearby worktable. Rhys could probably build a few decks with those arms. Shame about the attitude. “Are you going to talk this much every time?”

“Maybe.”

He made a disgusted sound, but his heart wasn’t in it this time. Shrugging his arms out of the jumpsuit, he tied the arms of it behind his back and reached below his waist to mess with a part of the suit Hadassah couldn’t see. It became clear rather quickly what he’d done when he scooted her to the edge, pulled her underwear to the side with his thumb, and entered her in several slow, gradual thrusts.

When he bottomed out, she buried her face in his neck and held him there for a minute, relishing in the feeling of being full. Even with a bastard like Rhys, there was something shockingly intimate about acknowledging the physical connection between them. Hadassah was a private person at heart and the idea of uncontrollable vulnerability with another person frightened her more than anything else possibly could. Being here like this, taking a single moment of calm before the storm, was much more of a thrill than what came after.

Rhys started to move, slow and deep, and she moaned into his neck, hiding her face from his eyes. He didn’t seem to mind and slipped a hand under her left knee to spread her wider while he picked up his pace. She let her moans become a little more theatrical, the way she used to do with Zao. Zao had always appreciated a performance and couldn’t give less of a shit if most of it was faked. He’d been a very selfish lover in that way.

Knight Rhys, it seemed, was the type to take offense to a little exaggeration. He started to pant, the damp exhalations drawing down across her naked back, and she knew he was close when his grip tightened on her legs to the point of pain. Her encouragement echoed softly through the small space, increasing in pace and pitch the more desperate his thrusts became. She moaned when she felt him empty himself inside of her, but the moan was more for his benefit, as her own orgasm remained teasingly out of reach.

“Don’t do that,” Rhys said when he’d collected himself.

Hadassah drew back and he followed, keeping himself inside of her with a firm hand to her waist.

“What are you…?”

“That fake shit. What’s the _point?_ What the hell does anyone get out of that, anyway?”

Well. That _was_ an interesting question. With Zao, her sexual performance had probably been as much about relationship maintenance as it _hadn’t_ been about pleasure. It was easy to play pretend and although Zao made it clear he knew just as well when she hadn’t come, he wasn’t always bothered by it. There were times when he made her see stars, and there were times that he just wanted to sigh and roll over, but the process he used to choose between the two experiences never seemed to include _her_.

“So…”

“Lay back.”

“Oh. Sure.”

She leaned her back against the wall again and waited to see what Rhys would do. She had a pretty good idea of his plan when he slid out of her, took her underwear off entirely, and then tossed them to the floor with the rest of her clothes. 

“Are you going to…?”

“Stick around and find out.” He slid his hands up her legs with such slowness she knew he had to be teasing her, throwing one leg over his shoulder at the thigh when he finally made it to her hip bone. The other thigh he pressed open against the workbench and she shivered less from the nip in the air and more from the hungry look on his face.

“But it’s--you just…”

Rhys shrugged. He used his free hand to wipe her off and pressed his mouth against her, reaching between her legs to expose her further. He wasn’t as careful as he was before, sliding three fingers directly inside her folds with no warning. This time, her moans were genuine. She slapped a hand over her mouth, scrabbling to keep her balance with her other hand and ultimately gripping the wall behind her as best she could.

Overwhelmed with sensation, her knees tried to close on reflex but managed only to strain against the pressure of Rhys’s body. Rhys’s fingers curved and rubbed at her inner walls. His tongue worked against her. The pressure of his mouth when he sucked at her made her legs shake with the effort of tilting her hips up. 

Rhys seemed to sense her trouble and pulled away, panting and wordless, in order to move her to the floor on top of her dress. He spread her legs and knelt between them, gripping her hips with both hands this time as he lifted her up to his waiting mouth. Close as she was, it didn’t take long before she came with a throaty whine that she didn’t quite manage to capture behind her palm and she felt Rhys’s smug grin as he licked and sucked until she pushed his head away to escape the overstimulation.

She closed her eyes, throwing an arm over her face as she collected herself while Rhys lowered her carefully to the floor, courteous enough to make sure her entire body lay on the dress and not the naked concrete. The sound of skin against skin, a soft grunt, and a warm, wet sensation on her stomach let her know he’d come again. Harsh overhead light from the generator-powered construction lamp cast her reclining body into odd, distorted shapes on the wall when she peered out from under the skin of her forearm.

Rhys found a somewhat-clean cloth and threw it her way in his usual terse manner. He looked the picture of arrogance, standing in front of the light while his eyes roamed openly across her body, taking in from afar what he’d taken apart up close. He looked like he could give people mind-blowing orgasms every day and knew it. And shit, he wasn’t wrong. Even now, she could feel her muscles flutter involuntarily, her body still reeling from the strength of her climax.

~

“Well, princess? Did you have a good time? Sure sounded like it.” 

Fuck, man.

“God. I need a minute. I’ll be in here.” Her arm flopped back over her face and she hoped he couldn’t see the self-conscious flush she felt burning its way across her whole head.

“It’s just Rhys.”

“Oh, shut the _fuck_ up.”

* * *

As the next week turned into two, Hadassah found herself with more time for creative endeavors. She and Codsworth made a duo trip to ArcJet and she returned to the station with even more goodies for Haylen to coo over, mostly a mixture of interesting schematics and research copied onto blank holotapes.

Diamond City also finally made it onto her travel schedule. Hancock joined Codsworth and Hadassah for the trip, which turned out to be lucky since Hancock’s recommended information source had been kidnapped by pinstripe-wearing gangsters. The three of them cleared the vault in no time, and Hadassah sat down with a Mr. Nick Valentine, synth detective, for a friendly interrogation. 

Codsworth came along on her walk back to the station from Diamond City, his face stuffed full of snacks and technological odds and ends sure to amuse Haylen for days. Hadassah had been circling Diamond City market making up a supply list in her head, and things such as “doodad that will amuse Haylen,” "book for Brandis," "something that will piss of Rhys," and “snacks Paladin Danse likes” lately joined “more bullets” and “even dumber-looking outfits to wear over stealth suit” as priority list items. The Brotherhood squad fascinated her in ways she couldn’t quite explain and the more time went by, the more attached she got. 

Incredibly, Hadassah found herself seriously considering Danse’s offer to join. Brandis hadn’t said much more on the topic, other than to point out that enlistment was a big decision, but Danse took some time every day she spent at the station to not-so-subtly perform a one-man recruitment show: The Brotherhood would help her survive in the wasteland! The Brotherhood would treat her like a valued part of the team! The Brotherhood would hone her already-impressive combat skills! The Brotherhood would instill in her a love of friendship and teamwork! The Brotherhood would fill every void in her soul that the old world left behind! The Brotherhood would walk five hundred miles to fill her with its seed!

Mostly she just smiled and nodded, but she had to admit the offer _was_ tantalizing. The whole squad knew by now that she was on the hunt for the Institute part-time, with Brandis alone knowing of Shaun’s involvement and of her family’s deaths. And while the Brotherhood wasn’t the American Military circa 2077, they’d done well for themselves post-apocalypse and were a force to be reckoned with. 

Hadassah continued to read up on the limited databases Haylen had brought with her, and had a pretty good idea of the Brotherhood’s foundational values and basic history through a document called the Codex. The Brotherhood were survivors, if a bit obsessed with the soulbond status of its members--well, some of them. Danse and Rhys had partaken in the Soulmate Kool-Aid: a sip for Danse, a keg stand for Rhys. Haylen, on the subject of soulmates, went with the diplomatic “I’m not sure; there’s so much we don’t know.” And Brandis, predictably, thought the whole thing was rad-shit crazy. 

It was nice to listen to them talk. It was therapeutic, even, like watching Paternity Court reruns from the 2060s. The intensity of it made her comfortable--towards The End, if you had a dissenting opinion that the government didn’t like, there was a 50-50 chance the secret police would show up in your bedroom at 3 AM. Unless this was some sort of social production only allowable on long-term scouting work, it meant she wouldn’t have to worry about the Brotherhood censoring her extremely loud mouth. 

And she was learning _so_ much about post-apocalyptic politics: all the different sides one could take and how popular they were, what people considered “normal” these days, and where the Brotherhood fit in with all of that; it was nice to know that not every Brotherhood member interpreted the Codex the same way, so at least it wasn’t some hive-mind. 

On some topics, like the Brotherhood’s primary mission--to collect, document, and preserve technology--the group agreed handily on all points. On other issues the group debated at length, issues such as determining who or what constituted the “monstrosities” or “abominations” mentioned in the earliest writings. 

The terms were not neatly defined, so where Rhys interpreted the words to refer to _all_ abnormal wasteland denizens--super mutants, ghouls both feral and non-feral, centaurs, and the like--Haylen thought it was more likely that the founders meant only super mutants, as other similar writings at the time discussed mutants at length, and ghouls not at all (centaurs, a horrifying creature Hadassah regretted learning about, hadn’t even been documented until well after 2100).

Hadassah did not join in on these discussions, as opinionated as she was. She held her tongue, watched, and listened.

* * *

“So what _is_ this thing?” Haylen held up one end of the blanket, a true wasteland abomination Hadassah had created out of some tacky dentist office curtains.

On the floor, Hadassah fiddled with the electrical tape, enclosing the last bits of insulated heating wire in an efficient--and ideally, safe--configuration.

“This is my son. And he’s going to change your life, Haylen.” Hadassah drug the blanket over to the extension cord she’d plugged into the generator. “You said the transformer was operational, right? This thing isn’t going to explode and kill me?”

Haylen squatted in front of the generator, giving it a few loving taps. “It should be safe for appliances, yeah. What _is_ that? Why’d you put a bunch of wires in a blanket?”

Hadassah plugged in the blanket. Within a few minutes, it began to warm. She’d been careful not to put too many heating wires inside; this blanket was a monstrosity beholden to no safety standards or shut-off mechanism and would certainly overheat if left on for long enough. But Hadassah wasn’t trying to reinvent electric blankets for regular use by all of humanity. 

Yet.

This was just for _fun._

She grinned, stood, and held the blanket out in a bundle to Haylen, who gasped when she touched it and immediately threw it over her own shoulders. For a few seconds Haylen just stood there, taking it all in. Then she spread the blanket on the ground, planked on one end, and rolled herself up like an enchilada.

“I love this,” Haylen said, muffled by cheap fabric. “Please stay with me forever and make me more prewar indulgences. I’m begging you. I’ll _pay_ you for the privilege.”

Hadassah cackled. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s amazing,” Haylen moaned. “Where’d you find all these heating wires, anyway?”

“Fort Hagen,” said Hadassah. A creak sounded in the floorboards behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Paladin Danse framed by the doorway into the stairwell.

“What were you doing at Fort Hagan, Nora?” Danse squinted at the blanket as though trying to make sense of its existence. He posed his question in a calm, casual manner, which was the most reliable indication that he was fishing for critical information.

“Laying waste to my enemies with violence and panache. Typical sweep and retrieve, you know how it is.” 

_Fucking_ Kellogg. The bastard who stole Shaun and killed his parents. _The_ feared and dreaded Kellogg, now a mangled corpse in a tomb of a military complex. So much for the mecha mercenary. For all his infamy, he was now a mere footnote in Hadassah’s story. She’d even reached out to the soulmate and allowed him to share in her glee, confused as he’d been by the unusually positive interaction.

“Hmm.” Danse did not appear at all convinced but let the matter go for the moment and trudged back up the stairs to do god knows what on the rooftop.

Haylen poked her head out of the top of her enchilada-blanket, face pink from the heat. “So on your next vengeful sweep and retrieve, are you going to gather more materials to round out the path of hedonism on which you have set me? And on which I am happy to be?”

Hadassah snorted. “I would’ve thought you’d be pissed at me for wasting your time with this. If I’d have done this on day one you would’ve kicked my ass.”

“That was then. This is now. You’ve brought me more significant tech in a couple weeks than I’ve seen for months. If you want to screw around once in a while and make hot blankets, then knock yourself out.”

“Oh, yeah? In that case, I _have_ been thinking about how to bring back hot baths. Ideally we’d have a hot-water-on-demand system, but those are expensive and time-consuming to make, especially considering this station is only temporary. Bu-ut, I could find a way to heat the water up quicker. This would all work with the water collection and purification system I helped Mordy set up on the roof. My engineer friend up in Sanctuary sent me the schematics for that, by the way. You should talk, you’d like him. He looks like car mechanic Elvis. Irrelevant. Haylen, are you even listening to me?”

“You had me at hot baths.”

* * *

“Shit, this is amazing. You know I’ve had less than a handful of hot baths in my life?”

“Tragic.”

“I mean it. I’ve never felt so clean in my life. I have absolutely no authority to do this, but when you join up I’m promoting you to a head engineer position so you can make blankets and water heaters all day.”

“An interesting offer. I accept.”

“Wonderful. Now what are your thoughts on distilleries?”

* * *

It took a total of three weeks and two separate supply runs from Mordy, but in the end Haylen managed to fine-tune, repair, and cuss the communications array system to her will. Hadassah helped Haylen where she could, and held a flashlight when she couldn’t. 

Haylen worked fast. Hadassah was there for the final turn of the screw and watched the station’s atmosphere electrify with the Brotherhood soldiers’ anticipation. For the first time in weeks, she felt like a complete stranger, observant but totally ignorant to the significance of their hope. 

And, if she was being honest with herself, the idea that they’d finally connected to their headquarters (solidifying the nebulous “Brotherhood” into a tangible entity) frightened Hadassah. She liked control and only just felt as though she’d wrested it into place where the recon squad was concerned. This new development shook her more than she thought it would. 

At first she’d tried to float unobtrusively away to another part of the station but Danse set a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from retreating further.

“You should be here for this,” he said. “You helped fix the array, after all, and I’d like to introduce you so your service can be acknowledged officially. Whatever you end up deciding about enlistment, the Brotherhood appreciates what you’ve done here.”

Hadassah craned her neck to the side to peek around Danse’s body at Haylen, huddled at the main room’s terminal where she’d linked up a microphone to the rooftop array. She already seemed to have made contact and although Hadassah couldn’t make out the words, the barely-restrained delight in Haylen’s voice was clear. Brandis looked pleased, nodding along to whatever Haylen was saying. Even Rhys had an almost-smile on his face.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Hadassah said.

Danse cocked his head. “Is...something amiss?”

Sometimes, Hadassah longed for a version of Danse that wasn’t so eagle-eyed when it came to uncomfortable body language.

“I don’t...feel good,” she tried. “I’ve been tired. Headaches and things.” It wasn’t a lie, actually. Headaches and fatigue had begun to plague her a week ago. They weren’t yet debilitating, but they had got to the point where concentration was difficult at times. Yesterday, Brandis had even held a wrist to her forehead after he claimed to have called her name four times without her realizing.

“You could have some mild radiation poisoning,” Danse said. “I had actually been considering how your body might handle the wasteland, given your previous life in the vault and possibly before the war. You might want to--yes, Scribe Haylen?”

“Paladin Danse, sir, Lancer-Captain Kells wants to speak with you.”

Danse nodded and crossed the room, his hand firmly on Hadassah’s back, pushing her along with him until they both joined Brandis and Rhys to circle around Haylen.

Through the radio, a voice emerged with the deep timbre one might expect of a career military man.

“Paladin Danse? This is Lancer-Captain Kells. Scribe Haylen has just informed me of Recon Squad Gladius’s whereabouts. I understand you’ve lost some members of your team. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s been a challenging assignment.” Danse ran a hand through his hair, one of his rare nervous tics. 

“The Elder and I look forward to reviewing your field reports. And I understand you’ve made contact with Paladin Brandis? Am I to understand that the deaths of his squad have been confirmed by yourself?”

Danse glanced over at Hadassah, who glanced at Brandis, who waggled a hand noncommittally in the air.

“Confirmed by an outsider, sir. A local here made contact with Paladin Brandis before I was made aware of his survival. This individual tracked down the remains of Recon Squad Artemis, collected the holotags of all those killed in action, and then escorted Paladin Brandis to our fortification.”

“I see,” the man called Kells continued. “And has this individual continued to assist with your mission?”

“She has,” said Danse. He put a hand on her shoulder. “She’s here with us now. We also received her assistance in repairing the communications array. In addition to being a fine combatant, she also possesses significant engineering skills.”

“I assume you’ve spoken to her about recruitment, then,” said Kells.

“I have, sir.”

“Very good. Now, before I go on, there is another matter of the utmost importance.” Kells cleared his throat. “I have an update on the Elder’s soulbond.”

A faint, shrill warning bell began to go off in the back of Hadassah’s mind, but she ignored it. Around her, the Brotherhood soldiers perked up instantly, leaning in towards the radio as though pulled by invisible wire.

“What update, sir?” Haylen jumped in, then flinched when she realized what she’d done. “I’m so sorry for interrupting, Lancer-Captain Kells. My excitement got the best of me.”

“It’s quite alright, Scribe Haylen; I certainly understand, given the circumstances. The entire Eastern chapter has been practically beside itself for the past couple months.”

“What’s the update, sir?” And there was Rhys, discontented Rhys, interrupting his superior on the radio. Would wonders ever cease?

“Well, if I could finish my report, perhaps you’d all--yes, Elder?” The radio went silent for several moments. “Elder Maxson would like to tell you the news himself, Paladin.”

“She woke up,” a new voice said. This voice was deeper than the Lancer Captain’s, husky, and suggestive of the same authoritative confidence in only a few words. “And she’s somewhere in the Commonwealth. She’s been...evasive, somehow, but I’ve felt her in and around the Commonwealth for weeks now.”

The side-eye Brandis leveled on Hadassah could have bored a hole through a tungsten cube. Hadassah felt a swooping sensation behind her eyes and would have collapsed if Brandis hadn’t already been next to her, waiting for just that reaction. He led her to one of the chairs next to the terminal and helped her down. The man on the radio hesitated for the duration of the commotion and asked some sort of question that Hadassah couldn’t hear over the roaring in her ears.

It could _just_ be a coincidence, Hadassah told herself. Nothing more than a coincidence. Soulmates were rare nowadays but not _that_ rare, she thought. He could’ve been talking about anyone, really. And it would be _arrogant_ to assume--what _were_ the odds that--

“The last time I made a solid connection,” the man--Elder Maxson--said, “she appeared to be in the vicinity of Cambridge Police Station, according to the map brought back by the first recon team. I’ve been mapping my mate’s movements since the beginning as best as I could, but there are times when she’s able to dampen the connection. The scribes haven’t yet determined how this is possible but I have enough information on her frequently visited spots to begin a formal search.” 

Well...shit. 

“You should consider finding her a priority,” Kells said. “This may be the only chance we’ve got to secure her and bring her in to safety. The Prydwen is currently on its way and will arrive at the old Boston Airport in four days. At that time you’ll likely be reassigned to lead a search team for the Elder’s soulmate.”

“Yes, sir,” said Danse. “I’m honored to be chosen for such a task.”

Hadassah felt her mouth go dry and shut her eyes tight, desperately trying to will away the waves of nausea clawing at her stomach. When she opened her eyes, Haylen was looking at her, concerned. The roar in Hadassah’s head intensified and she felt herself sway forward in the chair, barely catching herself with a hand on the desk.

“Let’s get you some air,” murmured Brandis. “You’ve definitely gone and caught something.”

He helped her back up, threw a blanket around her shoulders, and led her off towards the holding cells. 

“Is everything all right?” Her soulmate--no, no, not _yet_ \--the man on the radio questioned.

“You won’t believe this, sir,” Haylen gushed. “The person who found Paladin Brandis and fixed the array with me is from Vault 111. The one that did the cryogenics experiment. Once the Prydwen arrives, I highly recommend Proctor Quinlan send a team out to confirm her background and collect any remaining data from the vault, Elder Maxson, sir. She has the most amazing knowledge of prewar corporations in this area. One of the holotapes she brought back has intel on ArcJet’s X-68B project. She knew right where to find it.”

Hadassah held her breath, releasing it in a wet cough as the air caught in her throat. She wanted desperately to reach out to him now, to confirm in some way what her heart was telling her, but she wouldn’t dare. It would be as good as a surrender. She retreated even further into the recesses of her bond connection, feeling an odd sort of strain at the tension of maintaining this extra distance.

“Is that so?” The man said. “She sounds like she’ll be an excellent addition to the Brotherhood. I look forward to meeting her.”

The hint of amusement in his voice made her shiver. Did he know she was there, listening? Zao had played with her like that at the beginning of their little story; he practically treated the whole thing like a passing amusement. Her life-changing event had been his novel entertainment. Brandis led her away to an interrogation room and shut the door gently behind him. Further radio correspondence faded completely into a muddle behind the weathered surface of the wood.

Brandis helped her into a seat and took the one opposite her.

“Well,” he said quietly. “You’ve certainly got yourself into some bullshit.”

Face in her hands, Hadassah leaned back in the chair, resting her head against the wall. Grounding yourself was the first step to bond suppression but equally useful in preventing her panic attacks. She hadn’t had one in months (or centuries?) but between her illness and... _this_ , she was about due for another one. 

“I can’t do this right now, Brandis.” Hadassah swayed back and forth in the chair, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I know it just seems like I’m fucking around out there but I’m _this_ close to finding Shaun. I killed the man who took him, in Fort Hagan. He’s definitely with the Institute. And I’ve been working with some friends who think they can help me get in. I have the stealth suit, I could--I don’t know. I just--before the bombs, everything was always decided for me. Nothing I wanted or said mattered. People just used me. And this is the _first_ time in my life that I thought I could start determining my own path. I was _handling_ it, Brandis.”

“I know.”

Hot tears pooled in her eyes, threatened to spill out from under her palms. “If I had him, and this was already over...I don’t know, maybe I would do something about it. Give him a chance. But I just can’t deal with that right now. And if he’s someone important in the Brotherhood, then given what the things people in the wasteland believe about soulmates these days...and there’s some medical stuff I haven’t really been upfront with anyone about...there’s no way I’d be allowed to do what I’m doing now. I can’t _do_ this.” She collapsed forward onto the table in a pile of arms and misery.

She heard the scratchy sound of fabric on fabric, and then felt Brandis’s hand rest softly on her head.

“You’re probably right. If you go to him, it’s unlikely the Brotherhood higher ups will be happy letting you go off on your own. But, now that you know your goals align with the Brotherhood’s mission to find the Institute, you could at least be assured that your efforts haven’t been in vain. Myself and Paladin Danse would also vouch for your skill in the field. You wouldn’t be kept in a cage somewhere or anything _primitive_ like that. Yes, elders’ soulmates are held up on a ridiculous pedestal, propped up mainly by desperation and superstition, but you wouldn’t be powerless. Mind you, that’s all conjecture, and it’ll continue to be conjecture until such time as you decide to give the boy a chance.”

Hadassah sniffed and lowered her hands. Brandis’s eyes were kind and full of empathy for her. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a clean cloth and handed it over. She wiped her eyes on it and held it against her face for a minute, willing herself to calm down further.

“You mean...you’re not going to say anything? Won’t you get in trouble?”

“You let me worry about my troubles, young lady. I know what it’s like to feel like the universe is out to get you. Like you have no control over anything and you’re just hurtling off on a vertibird ride to hell. The choices you make in the days and weeks ahead will change your life forever. And I intend on ensuring you have that choice, to the best of my ability. _I_ didn’t have that choice. _Someone_ ought to. Besides, if I get found out I’ll just say I’m going senile. Cade owes me. The things I know about that man...”

Hadassah hiccuped and took a few deep breaths, running her hands against the grain of her safety orange faux velvet pants--they were on sale for free in a bombed-out department store--hoping to find some peace in the repetitive motions. Her headache and nausea only seemed to intensify by the minute.

“Do you think I can? Keep away from him, I mean. Until I’m ready to decide.”

“Well, now,” Brandis said. “Elder Maxson is a stubborn, strategic, intelligent man with a lot of resources at his disposal and he _has_ been waiting his whole life for you to fall into his lap. The Brotherhood itself has made your discovery one of its primary objectives, for better or for worse--mostly worse, in my opinion as a _former_ soulmate--and he’s been raised on dogma claiming that your relationship with him has the tangible power to strengthen the Brotherhood as a whole. There’s an enormous amount of pressure on him to find you and balance the connection once and for all. Now you and I know that’s a bunch of brahmin shit, but desperate times make for desperate hope.”

“That’s...kind of balls to the wall nuts.”

“Tell me about it.” Brandis leaned back in his chair, cracked open the door, and peered out into the hall. “They’re still talking in there.”

“Okay,” Hadassah said. She crumpled up the cloth in her hands, unfolded it, and crumpled it again. “What’s--what’s he like?”

“Who, Maxson? _That’s_ a tough question.” The corner of Brandis’s mouth twitched like he was trying to hide a smile.

“Why is it a tough question?”

“Because I’m not one of these shit-for-brains greenies with stars in their eyes who thinks the sun shines out of his ass. Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’s a _fine_ Elder and _deserves_ the position and all that. He’s smart, thoughtful, and good-looking, I suppose. Stands by his convictions. But it’s a little hard to revere someone you personally remember as a weepy little snot-nosed kid running around the Citadel shooting people in the ass by mistake.”

“Oh, wow.” The nerves hadn’t left her, but she managed a genuine smile all the same. As Brandis continued to talk, she relaxed, and some of the heaviness from earlier lifted. The ache in her upper back that always preceded a panic attack began to fade. “Thank you, Brandis. It means a lot to me that you’d stick your neck out like this.”

Brandis reached across the table and took her hands in his, a tether in her storm, and she was reminded of the way she’d held him the very same in a lonely bunker hidden beneath a hill.

“I’ll stick my neck out for you any time you like, Hadassah. It’s no trouble at all.”

* * *

_[redacted] Internal Network_

_User wouldntyouliketoknow_

_Our mysterious little vault dweller has made some waves. Appears to be working with a Chinese prewar ghoul, an admiral known by some local caravans as Zao. Unclear at this time what the full extent of their relationship may have been, will investigate further. Confirm that a child was stolen from Vault 111 by the Institute via Kellogg and that this child is the vault dweller’s primary source of motivation to find the Institute. Possibly nephew, possibly son. Sources are unclear. Scandalous rumors abound!! Has continued to work with Minutemen group and some local settlements, mainly tech- and improvement-focused but could be source of muscle if she plans to attack the Institute. Has been getting cozy with our dear savages the brotherhood up at Cambridge Pigpen. Recommend making contact ASAP to leverage her motivation to find her nephew before the tin cans do it first. Dibs on picking her nickname_ _personally_ _. I am voting_ **_Freezie Pop Supreme_ ** _!!!_

* * *

_RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian_

_Personal Messaging Application_

_To: RobCo User STURGES_

_Hi Sturges!!_

_Codsworth came by to pick up that part you needed. Let me know if there’s anything else from DC or GN that you need. I’m glad you like his new Grognak outfit. I paid Kent for a replica and then soldered it to Codsworth’s face. I noticed he attached a fourth arm to himself--somehow--that shoots radiation beams. He is becoming who he was always meant to be. I am very proud of my death metal son._

_Say hi to Mama Murphy and the rest for me, and give Dogmeat a few belly rubs. It’s good to hear that you’ll get one more round of crops in to preserve for the winter. It’s crazy that it doesn’t get as cold as it used to. Have you ever even seen snow?_

_Anyway, I wanted to let you know that on my last visit to DC I came across a Professor Scara who is a robotics expert. We talked a bit and she may have some good suggestions on making turret “packages” for settlements trying to set up security. I was thinking of making bundles of uncommon turret parts and providing those, plus instructions, to settlements. They could put the turret together themselves using the more everyday pieces of scrap that are easier to find. What do you think? Cost is going to be something to think about, but it has promise._

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Paladin Danse’s Workstation DN-407P_

_To: Lancer-Captain Kells KS-390LC, Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_Attached please find a field report on the potential Brotherhood asset known as Nora, as you requested._

_[attached file: Nora.document]_

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Paladin Danse’s Workstation DN-407P_

_File: Nora.document_

_[ INTSUM_

_December 21, 2287_

_Recon Squad Gladius_

_Asset Identification: Nora, pseudonym or nickname likely; I suspect Paladin Brandis knows her real name_

_Asset Background: claims to be prewar victim of Vault-Tec cryogenics experiment in Vault 111 (Vault 111 verified as cryogenics site by Field Scribe Haylen), background in solo infiltration and engineering, originally from the Middle Wasteland_

_Asset Equipment: [of note] Operational prewar Chinese stealth suit, good condition, ID number FW69875; Zhu Rong Chinese officers’ pistol, good condition, incendiary mods, ID number FW69875 (likely indicates equipment belonged to a single individual, possibly asset herself pending verification of background); RobCo PipBoy, good condition, Vault 111 serial number, protected with non-standard issue 3-factor authentication security system (confirmed during bath time at which time items were not on asset’s person)_

_Asset Allies and Known Associations: Minutemen (local militia group), Sanctuary (local settlement based in and around Vault 111, supported and co-founded by asset), Finch family (local farming family), the Slog (local ghoul settlement), local youth named Mordecai with ties to Commonwealth trade caravan network, Goodneighbor (established local settlement, poor reputation, area unsecure, thriving market and trade connections), Diamond City (established local settlement, secure, thriving market and trade connections)_

_Asset Situation: Freely comes and goes, no inhibitive alliances or memberships_

_Asset Unit Size: Asset has high-level connection to local militia group known as the Minutemen, current size of Minutemen militia unknown but recruitment is increasing according to asset’s own report_

_Asset Artillery: n/a_

_Asset CBRN: n/a_

_Asset Air: n/a_

_Asset Engineer: Asset claims and has demonstrated skill in mechanical engineering, claims to have attended the institute known as CIT from the years 2074 to 2077, assisted Field Scribe Haylen with repairing communication array, built from spare parts the following: heated electric blanket, rudimentary water heater, small circular automated vacuuming device (adorned with false eyes) which she referred to as her son, “Mr. Sir the Vacuum Man” (conversations with asset on belief of robot personhood and appropriateness of maternal affection towards mechanical constructs produced no conclusive answers and considerable backtalk)_

_Asset EST COA: Asset’s probable course of action is locating and infiltrating the Institute, by her own admission. Asset claims to have had something important stolen by an Institute agent and is elusive with details._

_PIR: Is the asset’s claim to be prewar a factual statement? How will the Minutemen affect the Brotherhood? What has the asset already determined about the Institute? What is the extent of the asset’s engineering skills? What is the extent of the asset’s infiltration skills? What can the Brotherhood offer as incentive for the asset’s enlistment?_

_Asset CS: Minutemen function as associated support units but are directly commanded by a man named Preston Garvey. The headquarters of the Minutemen are located in the old Sanctuary Hills neighborhood, the site of Vault 111 from which the asset claims to have emerged. Other Minutemen-allied settlements include a ghoul-populated settlement known as The Slog, and a family settlement known as Finch Farm._

_Vulnerabilities: Asset struggles to work in teams and prefers to work alone. Asset eschews authority whenever possible and admits to fear of authoritarian control, given past negative history with military forces and pre-war religious groups (has_ _very_ _strong opinions on religion which are shared often and without prompting). Quickly latches on to others’ weaknesses, mainly in benevolence considering the asset’s care for Paladin Brandis. Loses temper easily when pressed on topics of her past, religion, and the role of the military in society. Physical vulnerabilities include likely sensitivity to wasteland background radiation, poor hand-to-hand skills, short height, and excessively long hair._

_Weather and Terrain: n/a_

_Narrative: In spite of issues with personality, persistent lying, and a cynical attitude, I recommend enlistment due to the asset’s natural and extensive skill with technology and infiltration. The asset is quite young and, given a mentor assigned specifically to her, I believe that the asset’s negative qualities will be tempered into more productive behavior. Considering the asset’s formal technological education (pending verification), I recommend induction into the Scribe orders, specifically a Field Scribe role. The asset’s combat instincts and ballistic weapon skills are excellent and keeping her confined at length would be a waste of her talents. Despite our differences, my time working with the asset has been enlightening and informative. ]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thinnens. Actually no, things are about to pop off. I just really like using the made-up word "thinnens."
> 
> Note: if you are worried this is going to turn into one of those stories where Maxson is an evil possessive wasteland warlord, that is not the direction I'm taking this story. This is a good time to remind yourself that this story is told from the POV of a person coming out of a VERY dysfunctional soulmate experience. Hadassah's expectations and perception are colored by her history. If you want to read up on Pentecostalism/Apostolic Evangelicalism (as this is a part of Hadassah's religious history that pops up here and there), [the Wikipedia page is a good place to start.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pentecostalism) Long hair on women is an easy way to ID fundamentalist Pentecostals in the wild. Mind you, their hair is usually not very healthy-looking. There are consequences to hair quality when one goes decades without even a trim in the name of tradition. I would know; I got my very first haircut at the age of 27.
> 
> Kömmênt?? A sample of optional prompts for your perusal:
> 
> 1\. Would you die for Mr. Sir the Vacuum Man?  
> 2\. Who HAS Danse fucked?  
> 3\. What hedonistic modern day convenience does Haylen deserve next?  
> 4\. What are your deepest feelings about Brandis and the bond that he has made with fellow soulbound pal Hadassah?  
> 5\. Are you impressed that I found and downloaded a 200-page pdf containing field report templates that the actual US Army uses, and then adapted one for this fanfiction, which I am writing for free on the internet? pls notice me sempai(s)  
> 6\. Do you think that the Brotherhood's soulbond philosophies have had absolutely NO impact on Arthur Maxson's upbringing and current mindset? Like, just none whatsoever? He's just totally chill and fine, no pressure at all, right? Mental health and wellness at 100%?


	6. Arthur Maxson? She doesn’t have the range

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local protagonist makes moist first impression; local combat medic does job; local paladin slut shamed by magical wish-granting rat; local Maxson provides enrichment for magical wish-granting rat; local everyone else loses goddamn minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone in this chapter except for Knight-Captain Cade: 
> 
> Knight-Captain Cade: 

The atmosphere had changed at Cambridge Police Station. Isolated from their peers for so long, Recon Squad Gladius vibrated with excited energy at the reestablished connection with their mobile command center, an airship called the Prydwen. Haylen, Danse, and Rhys bustled around the station the next day, rearranging desks to prepare for an influx of troops. 

Codsworth, who’d showed up once again to offer his assistance to Miss Nora, floated about making the station cleaner than it probably ever had been, even before the bombs. Half a week at most and they’d be here, the Paladin said.

Brandis helped here and there but mainly made as many excuses as he could to patrol the perimeter with Hadassah. The old man’s measured council and practical advice for the coming days helped temper the worst of her anxiety, tethering her mentally and physically to the station. Running away seemed the best option to her lizard brain but, as Brandis pointed out, she was going to be hunted down anyway. Hunted down: his exact words. Even taking his personal biases against soulmate culture into account, she shivered to think of it.

Suppressing her bond and staying close _was_ the superior tactical choice. Maxson wouldn’t expect her to still be close by after the comm incident, Brandis said, given her history of evasion. Plus, there were benefits to staying near Team Gladius and their radio connection to the Brotherhood. There would be more time and space to plan effectively the nearer she was to the locus of energy.

That said, suppressing the bond consistently was starting to get noticeably difficult. Hadassah was definitely sick and with sickness came weakness. Physical weakness always translated to difficulty with controlling the bond. She’d never had to worry about it before. With Zao, sickness had never been a problem factor. She’d gotten sick a couple times, nothing too serious, but he’d already known about her. Hiding from _him_ wasn’t an issue. 

But now, Hadassah was starting to appreciate the finer points of the impact sickness had on the bond. Sickness wasn’t an emotion, but it _was_ a feeling, and the worse she felt the more difficult it was to hide those feelings.

Since the call with the Elder and Kells, the soulmate--should she just start referring to him as Maxson, now that his identity was all but certain?--had only grown more self-assured. Gone were the days when he tiptoed around her in the bondspace, skittish and wary of her sudden departures. 

These days he was practically giddy. Half the time he didn’t bother reaching for her throughout the day the way he did before. He thought he _had_ her. 

She didn’t reach for him at all--that was too dangerous, as the likelihood of him determining her exact location was high--but she could sense him all the same. If she were a swimmer in a lagoon, he felt like a circling shark. Only time would tell if he was the curious or the deadly sort.

On the third day after the initial communication, Hadassah started getting dizzy spells. A particularly nasty spell caught her when Haylen was in the middle of a lengthy report on Hadassah’s ArcJet tech hauls, with somebody named Proctor Quinlan. The room began lurching around like she was five shots deep and if Danse hadn’t been nearby to catch her around the waist, she would’ve fallen down the stairs. Codsworth fussed over her and put her to bed on a spare cot up against the nearest wall.

And then there was _his_ voice again.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, his rough voice smooth as butter. “Knight-Captain Cade will need to prepare in advance for any injuries Recon Squad Gladius has sustained. Scribe Haylen, is anyone at the extraction point injured or ill to the point of needing immediate care?”

Forget the floor lurching around. Now it felt like the whole _world_ had dropped out from under her. Haylen turned around in the chair and looked at Hadassah, eyes full of nothing but concern.

“Our potential initiate, sir. The one Paladin Danse gave a report on. I believe she may be in the early stages of acute radiation poisoning. I don’t have the equipment to flush her here. Knight-Captain Cade should prepare to tend to her first. Otherwise, the rest of the team has no immediate issues, Elder.”

“How is she feeling now?” No. _No. Fuck._ Paladin Danse watched her closely as the spell passed. Codsworth patted her on the head with a pincer.

“She almost passed out just now, sir. The initiate’s Mr. Handy is assisting her at the moment.”

The soulmate circled. She felt his concern. And his certainty.

“Thank you, Scribe Haylen. Proctor Quinlan, please continue.”

A voice that _had_ to belong to some species of researcher regained control over the microphone. “Ah, yes. _Thank_ you, Elder. That was... _quite_ unexpected. But not unwelcome. Sir. Will you stay for the rest of Scribe Haylen’s--oh. He’s, ah, already gone. _Ahem._ Please continue, Scribe Haylen.”

When the dizziness finally passed, Hadassah rose up from the cot, met by the Paladin once she came a few steps toward the entryway stairs. He placed a hand on her upper back, offering physical support. Hadassah pushed away from Danse as politely as she could and ran out the front doors. She stopped at the edge of the perimeter and pressed her face against a cold piece of metal, focusing on the chill and the way the surface flattened her cheek. As with her meditations, she found attention to physical sensations calmed her down.

“Hadassah.” Brandis came up behind her. She hadn’t even heard the door open again.

“I’m going to Goodneighbor, Brandis. There’s something I have to do. Something that could show us the way into the Institute once and for all. If I--if I don’t go now, I might not get the chance. This is _my_ business _._ I can’t--it has to be me. I _need_ it to be me.”

“I know,” Paladin Brandis said. 

Hadassah looked over her shoulder. Brandis had his armor on and a laser rifle at the ready.

“I’ll escort you. I’ve informed Paladin Danse that we’re going to get you some medical attention. You _will_ get some medical attention, won’t you?”

She nodded, ignoring the way the motion made her feel like a bug being shaken in a glass jar.

* * *

The trip to Goodneighbor was uneventful, which was fortuitous in any case but was especially helpful now that she had to stop every thirty minutes to take a five minute break--and _that_ was at a power-walking pace. Paladin Brandis led her through the gates, endured Hancock’s ribbing with good-natured cheer, and posted up at the entrance to the Memory Den while Hadassah entered.

Nick Valentine waited inside, having been escorted by Codsworth; the old robot broke west after Hadassah and Brandis crossed the river, heading to Diamond City to collect his charge. At the snail’s pace she and Brandis had taken, a beat-up old synth had managed to overtake two combatants and get there first without a scratch. How embarrassing.

Traipsing about in Kellogg’s twisted little head was...tiring. She’d felt unwell to begin with but after an hour or so--had it really been that long?--of reliving the terrible past, she couldn’t even drag herself up out of the memory lounger. Between the emotional trauma of the lounger and her sickness, her suppression walls were all but obliterated, allowing the soulmate near total freedom across the bond. Predictably, he felt alarmed at the state she was in. He hovered close now, nearly on top of her, concentrating on her position. 

Hadassah collapsed in a sad pile of limbs after failing to haul herself out of the pod. Codsworth had to help her up and Dr. Amari took one look at Hadassah’s face before scolding her for not seeking treatment for her radiation poisoning sooner. 

“And being from a vault like you are. It’s just completely irresponsible,” Dr. Amari said. The doctor pressed a bottle of pills into Hadassah’s hand.

“This is Rad-X. It helps ward off additional environmental radiation. They won’t make your current radiation poisoning go away. I’m not equipped to handle that. You’ll have to go to Diamond City. Or find the--well, there are other groups that may help you, also. Perhaps they’ll find you, given your interest in synths. Now, my advice to you is to seek out Dr. Virgil for more information. He’s an Institute scientist--in the Glowing Sea, I’m afraid--so you’ll have to find some way of entering it safely.” Dr. Amari shook her head. “Teleportation as a method of entering the Institute. My god, what a disaster.” 

Dr. Amari turned back to her terminal, leaving Codsworth (uttering sweet robotic nothings) to haul Hadassah’s woozy ass up the stairs. Irma, the upstairs hostess, held a wrist to Hadassah’s clammy forehead and gave Hadassah some purified water so she wouldn’t have to take the pill dry. 

To a chorus of half-hearted horny whoops from the Memory Den patrons, Hadassah removed her stealth suit and stored it away in Codsworth’s face, in case she became incapacitated later. She only had on some light clothing underneath but, in the event of things going south, she could at the very least ensure the Brotherhood wouldn’t get their hands on her suit. Given Scribe Haylen’s unsubtle salivation over the thing, it was unlikely Hadassah would ever see it again if it was snatched away. 

After a brief visit with Kent, who actually jumped when he saw how sick Hadassah looked, and a briefer talk with Nick Valentine, who now evidently had echoes of Kellogg’s memories puttering around his metal skull, Hadassah went outside to clear her pounding head.

Brandis stood in the middle of the street, looking up. The watchmen were looking up. Hancock stood on the balcony of the Old State House, looking up. Codsworth pointed to the sky with a quivering metal claw.

“Miss Nora, look at _that,_ ” Codsworth said. If he had lungs, he would’ve been breathless.

Hadassah looked up. An enormous airship, gunmetal gray and escorted by a flock of vertibirds, crept resolutely across Goodneighbor’s ragged skyline, cutting a path from West to East and filling the spaces below with the cacophonous humming of its turbines. The Prydwen had arrived. The whole of Goodneighbor watched her fly until she disappeared over the visible horizon. Towards the ocean. _Boston Airport._

“They’ll have sent a vertibird to the precinct to fortify the position,” Brandis said, shaking her out of her trance.

“Oh dear, mum.” Codsworth turned to Hadassah, his odd little eyes following her movements as she sank down to the asphalt. “I do recall your misgivings about, eh, Mister Soulmate, but you really _do_ seem to have come down with significant radiation poisoning. Perhaps it might be best to get it over with straight away. That Miss Haylen seemed to have a lot of faith in their medical facilities. Certainly they’d be better than what these ruffians out here can scrape up out of a dumpster. I don’t know if I trust that so-called “doctor” in Diamond City.”

Hadassah sat cross-legged, planting her head in her lap in a bastardization of one of her favorite morning stretches. The Rad-X had cleared away some of the headache but, much like the effect of an antibiotic on a viral infection, the improvement was more of a temporary side effect and not a treatment. Dr. Amari was right; she would have to get help, and soon. 

And Codsworth...no. Codsworth was _wrong_ . She could _still do this._ If she could just get back to Sturges, she might not have to go to the Glowing Sea at all. He knew how to make things, and fix things. Why couldn’t _he_ make a teleporter? 

And Zao, surely he would’ve found _some_ thing from his little water testing project. It might have been the fever brain talking or delirium setting in, but her plan seemed to make more sense than anything else had for the past four days.

“Hadassah, what do you want to do? I can’t leave you here in this state.” Brandis knelt on the ground next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

What to do, what to do? The simple act of thinking felt like wading through solidifying concrete.

“The rest of my things are at the station,” Hadassah said. “He doesn’t know what I look like. Gladius doesn’t know what I am. I’ll get my things and...and then will you take me to Diamond City? There’s a doctor there. I’ll get help. Will you take me?”

Brandis hesitated, but when she looked up into his face there was nothing but understanding there. “I will.”

* * *

Carelessness was the enemy of any covert agent. Hadassah knew this. She also knew the inevitability of a slip-up. The question wasn’t if, but when. And then the question became how well you could cover your tracks.

The walk back to the police station was arduous. Every step challenged her balance and focus and after twenty minutes she gave up and let Brandis carry her on his back; the old man had surprising strength for his wiry appearance. Hadassah pressed her forehead into his shoulder, focusing entirely on staying conscious and ignoring the subtle sparks of concern slipping through her bond. 

Between the emotional shock of the memory lounge and the physical shock of the radiation poisoning, it was now all she could do to fend _him_ off. When a few tears of frustration escaped her tightly shut eyes and ran down Brandis’s uniform, he turned his head but said nothing, picking up his pace rather than stop to check on her. 

By the time they reached the station Hadassah felt too weak to fight off her mate’s invasion of her mind. With her barriers all but gone, he stepped into her mind space as freely as he’d done only once before, when she’d first fallen out of the cryopod and into the distant future. Unable to parse the intricacies of his mood in her current state, she comprehended his excitement and nothing more. 

She barely registered the unfamiliar buzz of activity around the precinct as armored soldiers stomped around erecting barriers and barking orders back and forth. The whipping sound of rotor blades hummed from the rooftop, fading into a distant thrum as Brandis entered the building now carrying her in his arms.

Inside the police station the cacophony of activity continued, the atmosphere palpably intense even through the haze of encroaching delirium. She felt Brandis hand her over to Codsworth, who gently deposited her in a cot pressed up against the wall perpendicular to Scribe Haylen’s communication station. 

She took a moment to try and compose herself, wary of her weakness around these faceless strangers. But it didn’t matter, not anymore: the entire station had fallen completely, reverently silent. In that moment, she knew they knew.

“That’s her. Danse, that’s _her._ ” His voice, emanating through the radio and clearer than it had ever been. He was here, and he’d won, and _they knew._

A surge of adrenaline gave her some temporary strength; Hadassah rose up on her elbow and looked towards the radio, where Squad Gladius huddled in various states of shell-shocked. It would have been comical had Hadassah not felt like a rabbit struggling in a wolf’s jaws. 

Haylen’s mouth had fallen completely open and Paladin Danse stood frozen in the middle of typing something on the communications console. Knight Rhys was ashen-faced, clutching his laser rifle like his entire life was flashing before his eyes. It probably was.

“Help me up, Codsworth,” she murmured. Codsworth obliged, taking on most of her weight as Hadassah returned to a standing position. She felt her adrenaline levels continue to rise, gradually beating back the nausea and weakness as she glanced around the room in a cold, calculating survey of all possible exits. There would only be one chance…

The Paladin made the first move, inching away from the console and towards her, hands outstretched in the manner one might approach a wounded wild animal.

“Nora...” Danse paused, swallowed as he attempted to compose himself and take charge. “Why don’t you just...lie back down for a bit…we can get Knight-Captain Cade down here for--”

Hadassah bolted. Danse, it seemed, had predicted the action; he darted forward, reaching for her. He caught only air in the process: Hadassah hadn’t run for the front entrance, but for the back rooms leading further into the precinct. She took the stairs two at a time, bursting into an office that was miraculously empty. A nearby filing cabinet made a quick barricade in front of the door and she shoved a desk over too for good measure, feeling the twinge of a pulled muscle that she hadn’t the time to attend to. 

Through cracks in the floor, she heard the ground floor explode into a flurry of activity. Brotherhood soldiers stomped up the stairs and to the exits at Danse’s decisive orders. Hadassah went for the windows, looking for the best way onto the fire escape she’d noted days before when this very eventuality had crossed her mind. 

The door rattled on its hinges and then shuddered under the concussive force of a set of power armor running into it. She had a leg through the window frame and on the metal structure when she heard Danse’s voice through the door, pitched several notes higher than usual and emanating an eerie, affected calmness.

“Nora? I know you’re in there. Please come out. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” In spite of the situation, Hadassah had to choke down a snort. She’d never heard him this uncomposed, like he was ten seconds and a whisky shot away from a full-on emotional breakdown (complete with naked table dancing).

“I’m good; thanks,” she called back. Her voice wobbled unconvincingly. The fire escape wasn’t complete because of course it wasn’t--fucking _Boston_ \--but the drop to a lower section of roof wasn’t that bad. Even with her balance compromised she could make it in one piece. The soulmate probed at her mind curiously, alerted by her sudden energy, and Hadassah used some of that energy to swat him away.

Hearing her voice seemed to calm the Paladin somewhat and his tone settled into more of a negotiating-with-the-armed-kidnappers mode. 

“You aren’t ‘good,’ Nora. You’re sick. I know this must be frightening for you, but we can _help_ you. And you have nothing to be afraid of from Elder Maxson. He’s been waiting for you for a long time. We all have. Please. This isn’t about--if you weren’t ill, I wouldn’t be-- _Knight Simmons, get Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys. Now._ ”

“No. Leave me alone, Paladin Danse.” She got her other leg out the window and crouched underneath the sill on the second floor scaffolding, looking around her for signs of blinding orange jumpsuits waiting on the rooftops or in the shadows below. So far, nothing. A glint of metal in her peripheral vision startled her for a second, but it was just Codsworth making a beeline for her, alone. _Perfect._

“Nora?” It was Scribe Haylen’s voice this time, barely detectable over the rush in Hadassah’s ears. “Nora, you’re _really_ sick. Please just stop and think about this. If you run off, you won’t make it for long without medical attention. You _have_ to see a medic and the Prydwen has the most reliable tech to treat your radiation poisoning. We can talk about the soulmate stuff later, okay? The Brotherhood doesn’t keep soulmates against their will.”

_“Anymore,”_ Hadassah heard Brandis mutter. 

“ _Not_ helping, _Paladin Brandis.”_ Haylen took a shaky breath. “We aren’t trying to trap you. I know you’re scared, but _please_ don’t do this. _Rhys, get your goddamn shit together. Help me talk some sense into her. Who the hell gave you_ rum _? Put that crap down._ ” 

Haylen, sweet intelligent Haylen, sounded completely sincere. They all did. And knowing Squad Jenga like she did now, Hadassah believed in them completely. Or at least, she believed that they believed themselves. But she couldn’t do this shit, she _couldn’t._ Not again. Not another Zao. Not when she finally had a taste of freedom and independence. Not now that she finally had the connections to find Shaun and disappear forever. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” Hadassah walked down the fire escape, took in the gap from the bottom of the stairs to the lower roof, and jumped. In her weakness, she landed poorly but the pain in her ankle only served to drive her determination higher. Codsworth had reached her by then and took her up into his less pointy appendages.

One of his eyes swiveled down at her, the other two occupied with scanning their surroundings. 

“Mum?” The sadness in his voice almost broke her heart. “It’s true what they say, isn’t it? You’ll--you’ll really _die_ if you don’t get help. Miss Nora, I simply cannot allow you to run off into the wastes and die after everything we’ve gone _through_ together.”

“The Slog,” Hadassah gasped in pain. Now that she was relatively safe in Codsworth’s arms, her brain seemed to realize that some of the danger was over and _graciously_ returned some of the symptoms her adrenaline had been covering up. “They’ve got to have something that can help me. They’re ghouls. They know everything about radiation poisoning, don’t they? Right? I think one of them was a nurse, even. Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be good--ow, _fuck,_ watch the pincers _._ ”

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” Excited shouts approached from around the corner, and a single eye stalk swiveled around to consider the intrusion. “Oh, my. Oh, I _hope_ I don’t regret this, mum.”

Codsworth’s flame burned bright blue and with a jolt of force they absconded into the night.

* * *

Elder Maxson’s growing concern followed her, her bond with him becoming a lifeline as the delirium set in more firmly over the next couple hours. Any semblance of smugness he’d had before vanished utterly, replaced by a growing panic that only increased every time he reached for her and she lacked the strength for even a token swat. 

After a while, he gave up on trying to provoke a reaction and instead held onto her tightly, settling into a razor-sharp coolheadedness that probably meant he was tracking her down.

Still, Codsworth was nothing if not efficient and Hadassah soon felt herself passed into human arms attached to a voice that sounded a lot like Mordy’s--where had _he_ come from?--and from there into rough, warm skin that had to be someone at the Slog. 

Only the touch of morning sun gave any indication that time had passed--a whole night in fact, for the whole journey felt as though it lasted only minutes.

Concerned voices floated around her; she felt like her own consciousness joined them, floating in the air in a pleasant haze that suggested the presence of a painkiller in her veins. Some sort of argument was going on over her being there, it seemed, and most seemed in favor of contacting the Brotherhood for help in spite of misgivings toward the anti-ghoul organization. 

Elder Maxson’s grip on her end of the bond remained resolute and through the connection she felt him drawing closer at vertibird speed in a direct path leading from the Boston Airport to the Slog. A helpless dread threatened to overtake her calm and it wasn’t until she felt a soft cloth pawing at her face that she realized she’d started to sob and shake. 

Her grasp on reality reduced to the passing of sensations... 

* * *

Metal-clad arms lifted her up off of the makeshift bed. A torrent of water soaked her the minute the arms took her outside, rain seeping through her clothes and intensifying the shakes she could no longer control. 

A swooping in her stomach told her she was on a vertibird. A familiar voice reassuring her when she couldn’t stop crying. Another voice breathless with wonder. The flame of her other half burning a hole in her heart--right next to her, intimately close but not touching; his emotions the only stable thing she could hold on to. Compassion. Elation. Anxiety. Fear.

Darkness. A soft blanket. A swooping sensation suggesting flight. A small hand in hers.

Paladin Danse, rain soaked and determined, rushing her through tight hallways. Scribe Haylen, drawing blood from her arm and smiling gently when Hadassah slurred at her through a sedated haze to “stop stealing my fucking blood, you goddamn boot.” 

The gentle, strong curve of steel beams. The smell of ozone and grease.

A bald head attached to a stern face.

A weight on her chest purred and kneaded needle-sharp points into her skin before it was lifted away. 

Crying. There was a lot of crying. Most of the time she wasn’t sure if it was hers or someone else’s. 

She woke up to see a child’s head poking in the room shyly. She blinked and the child became the bald man asking her how she was feeling. 

Hadassah couldn’t remember most of the time she spent awake. She was lost in a fog of delirium that lifted indeterminately and without warning. Once, lucidity hit her in the middle of a _really_ good cussing out. She tried to remember who it was she was berating and why, but at that moment she wasn’t even sure she _existed;_ she was _hardly_ in a position to assess the existence of others, however deserving they were of her finest swears. In the end she decided it wasn’t important and then promptly fell asleep rather than waste the energy investigating. 

Days and nights passed without indication. In none of her bleary awakenings did she see a window or clock to guess at the time. A few times she woke up in the middle of someone washing her hair or wiping her body down but she never stayed awake long enough to ask any questions. 

Her only constant was her soulmate, who reached for her every time she awoke to offer calming energy. Every so often Hadassah found the presence of mind to lash out on principle, but his only response was to wait until she got tired again or forgot what she was doing, upon which time he would resume his calming motions. The man himself had yet to make a personal appearance that she could remember. 

Interestingly, he hadn’t yet touched her. She would have known, because their bond would have balanced. He would have felt _different._

He hadn’t touched her.

But he _would._

Hadassah waited, forgot things, and slept.

* * *

...until at last, her consciousness stuck. Sort of.

She felt the stiffness of a cot, prim and military issue, holding her up and for several minutes she took stock of its form, shifting as much to test its limits as she did to assess her own strength. She was unbound, covered in a thin sheet. At some point, someone had undressed her and put her in a large shirt and some shorts. 

Her Pip Boy was gone and she felt relief that she’d had the foresight to stow her stealth suit away. Unless they’d gotten to Codsworth, of course. A quick, tentative reach for her soulmate suggested he was somewhere in the immediate vicinity but she suppressed that particular observation down for the moment in favor of further information gathering. 

She turned her attention to the room. A field medic clearly worked here, judging from the various medical instruments covering every available surface area. So there wasn’t space for a separate recovery room. Wherever she was, it was a place of limited resources. The airship itself, perhaps. 

It was slight, but when she closed her eyes she could feel a gentle swaying motion, almost like a boat but without the telltale slap of waves on the side of a hull. The curved dome of the walls and ceiling lent credence to the theory but she wouldn’t be certain until she could get up and move around. 

Fatigue, deep and overpowering, kept her from raising up to see any more than what she could make out by turning her head. Medical supplies dominated the area to the left, though the medic himself was nowhere to be seen. Hadassah turned her head to the right to look at the rest of the room and started when she found herself an arm’s length away from her soulmate. 

She knew it was him, even without the confirmation of the bond. He sat in a chair next to her cot, both hands laid neatly on his thighs. A pile of paperwork sat on the chair next to him, abandoned. He continued his silent vigil with an air of expectation, perhaps waiting for some sign from her, some signal that she was clear headed. The casual manner of his bearing made her suspect that this was not the first time she’d woken in his presence. 

After all his hysterics over the bond, she wouldn’t have expected their first meeting to involve _awkwardly polite sitting._ But his was not the demeanor of a man seeing his soulmate for the first or even second time. From the looks of the items scattered around the chair--a gun in the middle of modification, more paperwork, a brown coat folded over the second chair back, and a stack of books--the space had a lived-in feel. He’d been watching over her for a while.

Hadassah took the chance to give him a once- and twice-over, blatantly sizing him up while she had the opportunity to be obvious about it with no repercussions. 

Elder Maxson was a large man, larger than most of the men she’d seen in the wasteland thus far besides the pre-war ghouls. As with Danse, childhood malnutrition had passed him by. She couldn’t be for certain until she stood next to him but he was definitely taller than her--oh, who was she kidding, _everyone_ was taller than her--and at least as tall as the Paladin. Maybe taller. No, not quite. Still tall, though. He could probably build a few decks. Nice.

He was fair skinned with dark hair and had a neatly trimmed beard, a strong nose, a jagged scar, and deep blue eyes that he kept locked on her face. She avoided looking directly at thembeyond her first pass; his physical presence demanded enough of her attention without the unwelcome intimacy of eye contact. 

He wore a black jumpsuit in the same style as Paladin Danse and Rhys that did absolutely nothing to hide the tense lines of a muscular body which she gawked at shamelessly. If she was already stuck up here in a sick bay, Hadassah was determined to enjoy her stay...until she figured out a way to break out and return to her prior business, of course. The _nerve_ of these people, providing her with _unsolicited_ medical care.

She took a few moments to measure up their soulbond as best as she could through the fatigue. Even a casual reach confirmed that he still hadn’t touched her and sealed the bond. She’d been completely helpless in his presence and yet he’d chosen to wait. 

As easy as it was to give him the benefit of the doubt, Hadassah decided not to. His hesitation could mean anything and as alluring as it was to imagine that the Elder was a romantic who wanted to wait for the right moment, her unbalance could just as easily be used to control her. 

For all she knew, he would hold it over her head, perhaps torment her with his physical presence until her instinctive demand to give herself over to him was too strong to overcome. Zao had teased her like that every now and then.

Her soulmate bore the inspection patiently, though a twinge of nervousness and a slight shift in his position betrayed a growing unease as her silence continued. She wondered if previous, less-lucid versions of herself had conducted this same inspection only to be forgotten later.

He broke first, clearing his throat as he glanced down at the floor.

“Well, from what the Paladins have told me, you already know why you’re here.” It was the same voice she’d heard on Haylen’s radio, deep and raspy in a way that made her want to roll around on the floor like a horny pomeranian. He waited for a response, but all Hadassah did was stare--partly out of stubbornness but mainly due to the _sudden_ realization that while her consciousness had returned, her ability to remain mentally present in conversation had...not. It was all she could do to focus on the individual words coming from his mouth, much less string them together into coherent sentences. 

“My name is Arthur.” 

This close, the sensations Hadassah felt pass through the bond melted together with her observations of his body language, leaving him entirely exposed to her scrutiny. He hadn’t once attempted to close her off in the way she’d done to him; she was beginning to conclude he simply didn’t know how. The mere concept of someone feeling from her what she felt from him now made her skin crawl. It was so intimate she couldn’t stand it.

The anxiety--and whose was it? His or hers? She couldn’t tell--that began the moment she laid eyes on him continued to rise and she could clearly feel a spark of infatuation and arousal influenced, perhaps, by the thinness of her shirt paired with the cool air of the room.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” he added, quieter, his voice pulling her back into the present.

“What...am I...on? Is this...a boat? Swaying.” Why were words so damn hard? And she almost laughed at the intense relief she felt over the bond as soon as she spoke. Did he think she was going to be silent forever? She wasn’t _that_ petty.

Usually. 

Gingerly, Hadassah leaned to the side of her cot to get a better view out the doorway, but the moment she moved her body the world began to tilt underneath her. The edges of the cot became her entire focus as she gripped them, desperate for anything steady. 

“This is the Prydwen,” Arthur said. “You would have seen it fly in a couple weeks ago.” 

Of course. “That...giant flying thing?” Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. She was going to die in a blimp explosion, she just fucking _knew_ it.

She looked back at Arthur once the world felt steady again but he blurred, becoming fuzzy and indistinct. 

“Yes. It’s meant to be our base of operations in the area. We--are you alright?” 

The boy. The Pip Boy. Where was it? “Where’s my...stuff? Things.” 

Arthur blinked at her. “The scribes are taking a look at your gear to make sure…” He paused in tandem with the flash of anger she couldn’t keep from her face. Emotions flared up in her mind without regard to her will, laid bare in her weakness for his perusal. She hadn’t felt this out of control in a long time. What the hell kind of drugs did they _have_ her on? 

“...They’ll be returned to you once you’ve finished recovering, of course. They’re being assessed for any necessary repairs or upgrades. Our scribes are quite familiar with Vault-Tec technology.”

“I want them _now._ ” 

A beat. “All right, if that will make you feel better. One moment.” He left the room keeping one eye on her over his shoulder, as though he didn’t quite trust her enough to show his back entirely.

The room began to spin again and she sank back into her pillow and closed her eyes. She counted to sixty before he returned. A familiar weight pressed into her lap. She opened her eyes to see her Pip Boy, as promised. The familiar shape and weight of it calmed her, but she didn’t put it on. Why did she have it off in the first place? 

Actually…where was she again? Who the fuck was this guy in the chair and why was he staring at her like she was some magical wish-granting rat he’d pulled out of a sewer? 

Arthur. Soulmate. Right. _Focus._

Arthur’s concern, which hadn’t gone away since she awoke--it had, in fact, increased _exponentially_ in the last five minutes--began to grate on her nerves. This guy needed to mind his own goddamn business.

“Where’s Gun? Somebody took it from me.”

The man brought his face to eye level with her own-- _rudely,_ like _every_ tall person did. 

“It’s with Proctor Teagan, our quartermaster.” He spoke slowly. She wanted to be offended by this but regrettably it _was_ helping her track the conversation. “It’s just being cleaned and inspected. That’s all. I’m not taking anything from you.”

“You...didn’t _ask._ And I don’t... _know_ you.” Her mind was made of gravy. White pan gravy from pan-fried chicken. With thyme.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he was. She could feel Arthur’s sorry. “I merely wanted to be efficient. I thought there would be more time until you woke up, so it wasn’t made a priority. I can have him finish it up in the next hour if you like. It’s a beautiful piece of work. Custom, isn’t it? Was it made for you?”

She stiffened, picking at an imaginary blemish on the Pip Boy. “Is that important?” 

_That’s_ how the other undercovers got you. Asking nosey questions designed to make you feel a connection. 

Arthur leaned back a bit in his chair. “Not if you don’t want it to be, I suppose. I was just making conversation.”

Five minutes passed in agonizing quiet, the silence far from companionable. She felt her anxiety rise to match Arthur’s as she slipped in and out of his bond hold on her; he lacked any semblance of suppressive barriers and in her malleable state his nerves became her own. It was overwhelming just being this close to him.

Again, he broke first. “I want to apologize for the abrupt manner of your...acquisition. For the longest time, I thought you were--well. That doesn’t matter now. And then I felt you were sick. Paladin Danse said you were quite upset when he--I want to assure you I don’t mean you any harm. I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances. It isn’t our policy for soulmates to meet like this. Once you’re well, you can do what you like, of course.” 

_But I want you to stay,_ she felt him say. _Please stay._

He raised a gloved hand in her direction, resting his fingertips on the cot several inches from her body. Like the rest of him, his hands were large and strong. If she laid her own hand underneath his, it would disappear completely. _So_ many decks. She shivered and forced her attention back up to his face.

“Is...sending some kind of...I don’t know...letter? not a thing that happens anymore?” 

He drew back a bit. “It was imperative for me to locate you immediately. For your own safety. If there had been space to take my time, I would have. Paladin Brandis and Paladin Danse said you were cryogenically frozen when the bombs fell and my scribes have recovered vault records corroborating this story of yours. In that case, you can’t possibly appreciate how dangerous it is out there now. You had acute radiation poisoning after just a month. You’re very delicate, medically speaking.”

And _how_ . Though she’d die before ever admitting it, Hadassah was beginning to come to the same conclusion. Even Hancock--yes, she _definitely_ remembered Hancock, even while high--would agree, after witnessing her unfortunate reaction to even the mildest doses of chems. _That_ hangover had begun before she’d even had the chance to properly enjoy the things. Where _was_ Hancock these days?

And speak of the devil, there was her old friend Extreme Nausea making another pass at her, heedless of her need to pay attention to her surroundings. Arthur, the Man Who Could Build Many Decks, continued to blather on but damned if she knew what about. She glanced around, hoping that there was at least some sort of bucket nearby if her body decided to let her know just how much it wanted her to suffer.

“I...really don’t--I don’t feel good.” A clammy dampness settled over her skin and she nodded to herself in helpless resignation. _Fuck._

Arthur the Sexy Glove Man accepted the interruption without offense, patting the cot next to her in the same way an adult might pat the head of a small child making a grand observation the adult considered obvious. “Yes, Knight-Captain Cade did say it would take you--” 

“No seriously...I’m going to throw up.” And she did. All over his lap. And then she fell out of the cot onto the cold, metal floor.

_God fucking dammit._

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Scribe Haylen’s Workstation HN-118FS_

_Priority Communication_

_To: Elder Maxson MX-001E, Lancer-Captain Kells KS-390LC, Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR, Knight-Captain Cade CD-440KC_

_Day 5 of sweep and retrieve for Vault 111 is progressing on schedule with some encouraging results. All former residents of the vault have been buried on a hill near the vault entrance, a project began by settlers and finished with Brotherhood support. The local settlers, affiliates of the Commonwealth Minutemen Militia, have acclimated to our presence and, while still wary of us, are no longer openly hostile._

_Diplomatic assistance by a particularly sentient Mr. Handy known as “Codsworth” helped immensely in this regard. This is the same Mr. Handy that accompanied Nora on many of her visits to Squad Gladius. The robot was able to both confirm our identities and reassure the settlers that we are assisting in Nora’s medical treatment. Working with the settlers was significantly easier after the Mr. Handy’s arrival. They seem to be very protective of Nora and consider her something of a leader in spite of her short time among them._

_Given the work that has already begun on the vault to prepare it for residency, I am under the impression that a large amount of functional tech hasalready been repurposed by the settlers; however, I do not believe the removed tech is a priority to re-acquire. Inventory logs for the vault point to the cryopods as the main technological point of interest. I can confirm that this vault was without a G.E.C.K.._

_Due to manufacturing flaws, Vault 111 has suffered a great deal of environmental damage over the years, mainly in the form of leaking groundwater. Nearly all digital files are corrupted and there is very little usable information at first glance, though I am transferring everything I can onto holotapes._

_Interestingly, all data regarding Nora are comparatively more corrupt in a manner suggesting a hasty hacking job. The name associated with the cryopod she must have emerged from is Hadassah S., but that is the only complete piece of information that I found. I was unable to acquire medical records as per Knight-Captain Cade’s request and I was unable to acquire additional demographic data as per Proctor Quinlan’s request._

_Sending data (and a custom weapon named the Cryolator) to the Prydwen on the next transport._

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mail Terminal Maxson MX-001E_

_Priority Communication_

_Fr: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_To: Soulmate Project Team_

_Scribe Haylen, thank you for the update. Please continue to work on getting as much data as possible. I want as much information as we can get, even if the data we find is incomplete. Were you able to confirm a full legal name? Do you have any evidence pointing to the identity of the person responsible for manually corrupting the data? A local settler, perhaps? Institute agents? The pro-synth group?_

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Data Terminal Quinlan QN-448PR_

_Fr: Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR_

_To: Soulmate Project Team_

_Elder Maxson, my scribes working in downtown Old Boston have recovered residency documentation for the year 2076. Records indicate one Hadassah Eleanor Sarkissian, age 21, living in the same Sanctuary Hills house that Scribe Haylen identified as Miss Sarkissian’s pre-war dwelling._

_There appear to have been two other adults, married and of a different family name, living in the same house with her. Additional information on Miss Sarkissian has been difficult to come by. I have compared her citizen records to the records pulled from Vault 111 and they have been manually corrupted in a pattern too similar to write off as coincidence. This appears to be a recent and deliberate effort to obfuscate her identity. It may be that the obfuscator wishes to make their corruption known._

_Knight-Captain Cade, my scribes working at the hospital did manage to come up with a single record of local hospitalization for Miss Sarkissian from the year 2075. She was hospitalized for an irregular heartbeat. No other information was recoverable._

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Scribe Haylen’s Workstation HN-118FS_

_Priority: Encrypted_

_Fr: Scribe Haylen HN-118FS_

_To: Knight Rhys RS-104K_

_I cannot believe any of this. It’s surreal. Sorry for not getting back in touch with you sooner; it’s been wild. So you know, I rode up with Paladin Danse and Elder Maxson to assist with her emergency care. I guess they thought it would be helpful since I’d been doing my best to keep her upright for the entire week before...ya know, everything happened._

_As soon as she was stable I got sent to that Minutemen settlement we heard about on the radio to poke around in Vault 111. So far it looks like all that crazy stuff she told us was real. Also I found a gun that freezes things. Why do Vault Tec scientists keep making things that comic book villains would use?_

_I shot a tree with it and the kickback threw me against a house with some exposed rebar. I was impaled. It was on a one-inch splinter and not the rebar but my report says “impaled” and I have never been more proud of myself._

_So to answer your second question, Nora_ is _kind of her real name but based on her middle one. Her first name is Hadassah but we’ll probably be calling her Lady Maxson since we’re a bunch of dirty boots and she is ELDER MAXSON’S SOULMATE. She was just sitting around playing board games with us, Rhys!!! Like a regular person!!_

_Like I don’t buy into most of the soulbond superstition but woooooow I was not prepared. We’re probably going to end up in the records as the people who found her. This is so weird. Probably weirder for you, though. Have you heard anything re: You Know What? Has Paladin Danse said anything?? Are you in trouble???_

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Cambridge Police Outpost Workstation_

_Priority: Encrypted_

_Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K_

_To: Scribe Haylen’s Workstation HN-118FS_

_haven’t heard Anything yet. Probably gonna die tho pour one out for me after the Elder cunt punts me off the flight Deck as a ritual sacrifice. Its probably bad Luck for him not to. i will greet my death with dignity_

_im not even mad its for the best_

_ad victorium_

_rhys_

* * *

Four more days of recovery time wasn’t enough to get Hadassah back on her feet but at the very least she was able to sit up with the assistance of several pillows, thanks to the nosy scribes from across the hall. And she acquired a motion sickness patch on her upper arm, courtesy of Knight-Captain Cade. 

Cade, the Bald Man from her feverish hallucinations, waved away her embarrassment at having made a mess all over the place--and all over Arthur, dear _god_ had she not needed that particular humiliation--and reassured her that she was not alone in being airsick on a giant metal blimp that had two, maybe three windows on it.

The Knight-Captain quickly became one of her favorite people on the ship. While practically everyone else tripped over themselves to fawn over her, Cade answered her questions with practical concision, responded to her reasonable requests with efficiency, and responded to her unreasonable requests with a flat “No.” 

Her charm had no effect on him whatsoever and all her attempts to bribe additional information out of him were met with deaf pretense. But he also supplied her with juicy tidbits if she was quiet for long enough and he ran off the rubberneckers--at first merely on principle but later with great passion once he’d observed how much she disliked being stared at. After he thwarted the seventh undesired visitor, Hadassah decided Knight-Captain Cade was a wonderful man and too good for this world.

Paladin Brandis remained a steadfast friend to her, though only over an encrypted messaging system hastily constructed using a hard link to Cade’s terminal (a link which Cade helpfully pretended was not there). Brandis provided her with a steady stream of gossip filtered through his unique blend of sarcastic positivity and elegant chaos. Arthur visited her during meals but had been coy with any details relating to Brotherhood ground activity, details which Brandis happily provided her under the table. With _commentary._

Through Brandis, she knew that Haylen had been sent to snoop around in Vault 111, that Codsworth was trying in vain to make contact with the Prydwen, that Knight Rhys had been day drinking and staring into space a lot (and getting thrown in the brig (by Brandis) for being rowdy), and that an organized Jenga gambling ring had sprung up resulting in no less than three brawls. 

Rhys had started all three on-record Jenga brawls. One of them Brandis recorded for her entertainment in spite of the fact that he was the highest ranking officer on site and theoretically The Responsible One. 

Downloading the sound byte had taken four hours but it was worth it to hear Rhys drunkenly repent for the unforgivable sin of plunging Hadassah’s most holy depths. Rhys was _just_ sober enough not to let the cat entirely out of the bag by using her name, so Brandis was content to let the bullshit ride itself out. He assured Hadassah that he was positive The Boy (Elder Maxson) wouldn’t give two shits about the whole thing now that she was on board and out of danger. 

And apparently Mordy had started holding court at the station once someone found out he’d been one of the first to meet Hadassah in the Wasteland; he’d been spreading some choice rumors that he and Brandis had collaborated on together. The rumors mainly concerned her ruthlessness in combat, though a few hinted at godlike powers that the cryo treatment had bestowed upon her. Oh, and the water heater was in a constant state of needing repairs due to overuse, so would she _please_ suggest to The Boy that Scribe Haylen was needed on site ASAP?

Hadassah didn’t pry too much from Arthur directly when he visited and was wary of the way he eyed her Pip Boy any time she got pinged in his presence. Just because she knew his feelings didn’t mean she could predict his course of action; she didn’t know him well enough to feel safe with assumptions. People went against their feelings all the time.

But already she sensed from their short interactions that he was an immovable object to her unstoppable force. They were equally stubborn people, though they manifested stubbornness differently. There was a way to play this whole thing with Arthur and it wasn’t going to be through pettiness, manipulation, or aggression. She certainly could try but it wouldn’t get her anywhere productive. Currently he held most of the cards and could simply wait out any games she played.

Meanness was not a persona she could afford to wear here; she was severely weakened and without a truly secure connection to the outside world. Her only advantages in this situation were the full extent of her personal network and any combat abilities that she hadn’t revealed to Paladin Danse, who she was _certain_ had tattled on her.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen Danse since she’d woken up properly. He’d been the one to scoop her up at the Slog, Cade narrated to her during one of his occasional chatty moods. It had been decided by Kells, even before Codsworth found and told the Brotherhood where she was, that Danse would be the best choice to rediscover Hadassah and convince her to go to the Prydwen for treatment. 

Having Arthur entreat her first was determined by Proctor Quinlan to be too forward and manipulative, a point to which Arthur had vehemently dissented. In the end, though, he’d acquiesced to the otherwise-unanimous vote of the members of the Soulmate Project, a research and action oversight committee dedicated to East Coast Brotherhood soulbond affairs. 

Proctor Quinlan, Cade said, believed Paladin Danse could be neutral enough to provide Hadassah a fair environment in which to be _appropriately_ solicited--for at that point people still assumed her to be in a “solicitable” condition. No one had expected her health to deteriorate so quickly, not after she’d scaled down the precinct building and zipped off the way she had. 

But once Codsworth arrived with the alarming news, all thoughts of neutrality and caution went out the window--and so had Arthur, literally. Originally, Quinlan had kept him from boarding the vertibird assigned to pick up Danse and Haylen. There had been open arguing on the flight deck: Arthur had made some impolite assertions on Quinlan’s motives and personal history; Proctor Quinlan had thrown down a pencil and a clipboard. However, when Arthur began to feel Hadassah actively dying he’d abandoned all thoughts of propriety and jumped off the Prydwen in full power armor. 

To intensify the drama, Hadassah’s recovery had been awfully rough, with several close calls thanks to her negative reactions to available medication. Even stimpacks had to be used carefully and Cade ended up inventing three new radiation treatment procedures just to keep her body stable enough to tolerate a flush. 

She’d also, Cade informed her in his deadpan monotone, cried hysterically every time either Danse or Arthur came to check up on her. There came point after day five when both men were banned from Cade’s sick bay until she was more stable. 

When a few of Hadassah’s memories began to float back into focus on their own, Cade was there to help her sort them out. _Some_ of the memories Hadassah should not have asked about, in particular the one concerning the person she’d treated to a drug- and pain-fueled cussing out. 

It had been Paladin Danse. Of _course_ it had been Paladin Danse, who had been _so_ kind and only ever treated her with fatherly respect in the face of her immature fuckery. She’d apparently informed him he was a “bootlicking barracks cum dumpster,” burst into tears, and then attempted to throw a tray of medical instruments-- _recently sanitized,_ Cade emphasized--at Danse’s head, which resulted in her falling out of bed and nearly breaking her arm. 

Thinking about it made her want to crawl into a corner and die of shame, and Hadassah was not usually one to regret emotional outbursts. Besides, there were _other_ things to be legitimately angry about: The Institute, for stealing Shaun; Her own mind, for feeling relief that for a little while she didn’t _have_ to think about Shaun; The horrible baby food that Cade insisted she eat the entirety of four times a day; The cat in the office across the hall who would not come when called (rude); Her soulbond, for insisting she give up her silly plans and have her way with Arthur’s strong, muscular body. 

_I have to get out of this place,_ she thought to herself. 

_Fuck that noise. Sit on his face,_ the soulbond said. _Smother him with pussy until he begs you to stop. You want to._

It was correct. She _did_ want to. But it didn’t _mean_ anything. You didn’t fall in love with someone in a few days. Biology was conspiring against her, calling for her surrender, to forget about Shaun and the Institute and her plans and _everything...and_ to let that man rail her over and over again until she left a trail of daddy sauce everywhere she went. 

Now, not _everyone’s_ bond turned them into an incurable horndog--the bond could encourage platonic friendship for some--but that technicality hardly mattered when Hadassah’s, in fact, _did_ turn her into an incurable horndog _._ She wanted that dick like she wanted a bierock. (Badly.)

And he’d fuckin’ _give_ that dick to her, too. Hadassah was _painfully_ aware of how much he wanted her. When they’d been separated, there had been times when she’d felt his arousal but it had felt so much less personal then. Now she _knew_ it was about her. The tension within their bond was palpable, even as he continued to act with stoic professionalism in person. But it didn’t matter what was on his face when she had access to his emotions at the source. What he got up to in his head, now...that was _far_ from innocent and she felt it _all._

In fact, she’d been jolted awake at ass-thirty that very morning by him relieving some of that very tension. Again, she wondered how much... _information_ ...he knew he was giving her. She was his first and only soulmate and consequently his experience with bonds was colored by _her_ habit of suppressing her presence. He might very well have thought the fuzzy indistinction went both ways. Of course, she’d had no intention of correcting him on any of this while holding her tongue could serve as an advantage; but, if he continued to jerk off at 5 AM then she was _going_ to have Words with him.

The raw openness of the bond made her long for her suppression prescription, as ethically opposed to it as she was on a personal level; being so sick and so near to him, she was no longer able to consistently block him out and whenever she tried to retreat he reached and reached for her until the mental effort to fend him off became too much.

The clang of metal pounding against metal startled her out of her thoughts and she looked up from her lap in time to see Paladin Danse himself--power armor covered in blood and chunks and trailed by a bevy of knights--sweep by her doorway. None of them spared her a glance.

“Back from Fort Strong,” Knight-Captain Cade muttered from his terminal.

“Oh, they finally got around to clearing that?” Hadassah reached for her Pip Boy on the table next to her cot, flicking the screen on and finding her page of notes. She’d taken to jotting down some of the more interesting tidbits that filtered through the walls.

“Mmm,” said Cade.

Hadassah slumped down into her nest of pillows and clicked through screens until she got to a folder where she’d been sporadically journaling her adventures. 

While her notes were concise, helpful, and intended for reference, the journals were more creative autobiographies than anything else. In the absence of a therapist out here she had to have _some_ way of dumping her feelings. There were quite a few entries in there that were more fiction than fact.

_[Captain’s Log Stardate 2288.1.16: I’ve been captured by irradiated jarheads and imprisoned as a war bride on the Hindenburg 2. It’s mostly evil officers and eviler scientists up here. Cade says knights and below stay in the temp barracks in the terminal below, like lowly underlings. They’re all calling me Lady Maxson like I’m some sort of inbred aristocrat. This relationship is already a done deal. Someone probably forged a marriage certificate while I was unconscious.]_

Case in point: actually, only _one_ person had hitherto referred to her as Lady Maxson: Proctor Quinlan from across the hall. He’d popped his head in on the second day and terrified her with the volumes of information he casually possessed regarding her personal history. Efforts to suggest he call her “Nora” had failed utterly. And no one had mentioned _anything_ about marriage.

_[Also, they tried to steal my pip boy. So things are just going swell. I’m finally sober now, by the way. Memory of my treatment is mostly lost to the ravages of sedation but there are a few bits here and there I remember._ _He_ _hasn’t touched me yet to balance the bond, so I know he didn’t try when I was sleeping...so there’s that I guess.]_

And there _had_ to be a reason why he hadn’t touched her. Whether it was manipulation or some wasteland propriety--or Brotherhood tradition, perhaps; would they have an audience for the act?--he had his reasons, and she would ferret them out.

Pulsating waves of nausea let her know her writing time was done for the moment. Even with the patch, if she looked down at her Pip Boy too much the nausea returned. Cade noticed her clutching her forehead and removed the Pip Boy from her lap, returning it to the side table and continuing his preparation of her transfusion. Hadassah sank deeper into her pillows and closed her eyes for just a moment.

  
The _thunk_ of the lights transitioning to night mode woke her hours later and she turned her head just in time to see Arthur take up his coat and slip out the door. He’d left a book behind on the chair: _Commentary on the Revelation of Saint John_ by Nerses of Lambron. Feeling much less tired now and uncaring of the true time of day, Hadassah picked up the book and began to read in the low light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It means a lot to me when people respond with comments. Thank you so much to those of you that take the time to talk to me! And thanks to those of you who share my story with others--please feel free to do so! It's always exciting to know there's a virtual room of people out there who want to listen to your words.
> 
> Remember: if you see a post with a link to a fanfiction on tumblr, reblogs help it actually show up in the tags that people follow. Otherwise tumblr treats it like a spam post. Sharing is caring!
> 
> ~
> 
> Every day Cade clocks in for this disaster chaos train and says, “I don’t care about any of this messy bullshit. Anyway here’s an executive summary of everything I’ve overheard in the past eight hours.” 
> 
> 1\. Thoughts on Hadassah’s brilliant decision to fuck off into the wilderness while actively slipping into dilerium. May those among us who have not fucked off into the wilderness while actively slipping into delirium throw the first stone. Danse, put the stone down. You know you’ve thought about it.
> 
> 2\. Is Cade getting paid enough for this shit?
> 
> 3\. THEY finally met up. Arthur’s investments in Soulmate Tinder have finally paid off. Were you expecting The Grand Meeting of Mates to go some way other than awkwardly and vomit-coated? Why? Rate this local wildlife encounter on a scale from 1 (petting soft-eyed dog next door) to 10 (mauled to death by horny nesting swans).
> 
> 4\. You’re laughing. Knight Rhys is in the police station having a spiritual breakdown and you’re laughing. Arthur Maxson may not give a single shit that Rhys and Hadassah committed the Act of Darkness but that will NOT stop Rhys from performing ritual self-flagellation while crying. What must Rhys do in order for Saint Roger Maxson II to forgive Rhys of his sins? Will he ever again be clean?? Are you going to contribute to my kickstarter to buy a spelling & grammar tutor for Rhys? I’m not!!
> 
> 5\. Are Quinlan and Arthur getting a divorce? Whose house do you want to be at for [insert preferred holiday here] and why?
> 
> 6\. Who are you nominating for Biggest Drama Queen in this season of RogMax’s Brotherhood Drag Race and what Dramatic Moment are you submitting for consideration? Who’s your runner-up?


	7. Not to be racist, but I love Dandy Boy Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local gay disaster grandpa stirs pot, true motives still at large; local protagonist believes self to be in apocalyptic Yellow Wallpaper skit; local Maxson violates HIPAA for personal reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You want to know where I get my brilliant/stupid chapter titles? [Behold.](https://youtu.be/lf6DM3VuwOE)
> 
> One of the goals I have for this work is to distinguish between Work Arthur and Off the Clock Arthur. He’s kind of a boring character in-game because you only ever see his game face. But nobody is that hardass ALL the time and, because this story is told from 3rd person limited point of view, a lot of what we see is Hadassah’s impression of him, which is biased. Her assumptions that Arthur is a dickhead trying to ensnare her are just that: assumptions based on what she can see in person and feel over the bond, as well as influence from her past dysfunctional relationships. Keep that in mind. Arthur is not Actually Evil the Whole Time. The vibe we are going for here is Drama Queens Experiencing Feelings and Terminal Awkwardness.
> 
> Also would like to clarify that this Arthur Maxson looks his actual goddamn age (21-22 at this point) and like someone who knows how to trim a beard. He does NOT look like a wealthy hobo that falls asleep nightly atop a mountain of cocaine in a mahogany log cabin in rural Montana. Check the mod Maxson Gets a Shower and a Shave by fewwit88 on the Nexus for examples of What Could Have Been I mean LOOK at this shit hunty you do NOT have to settle for HoboMaxson 5000: 

Paladin Brandis visited the next morning, much to Hadassah’s surprise and delight.

“I thought you were in trouble because of me,” Hadassah whispered, mindful of Proctor Quinlan’s increasingly nosy ears. “I thought it was just a matter of time before they tossed you in some cell to rot.”

Brandis sat down in Arthur’s Chair, scooting close enough to rest his elbows on her cot.

“Well, not exactly in _trouble,”_ Brandis said, shrugging. He took a small, paper-wrapped something out of his pocket and began unfolding the corners. “Elder Maxson’s not very happy with me at the moment but I _am_ an old man who got trapped in a bunker for years in the line of duty so they’re cutting me some slack in the “possibly deranged” department. I’m on medical watch, same as you. Got promoted for my troubles, actually. Star Paladin is essentially a desk job these days, and what better way to keep a lid on my wily ways? Don’t congratulate me; it’s a punishment, not a pat on the back. Cookie?”

Hadassah stared lustfully at the proffered snack. “I’m not allowed. Cade said I’d get the shits. Well, he didn’t say it like that. He was all, “unusually frequent and liquid bowel movements.” You know. He’s still trying to figure out what I can put in my body without the whole thing falling apart.”

_Star_ Paladin Brandis nodded sagely. “I feel the same way the older I get.”

She giggled. “It’s really nice they let you come see me. I missed you.”

“Yeah?” He picked up the book on her cot and examined it. “Already taking advantage of your little library?”

“Huh?”

“Once he found out you were here, the Elder had people start collecting books for you. You’ve got a whole personal library on this rust bucket. Someone cleared out a supply closet and stuck some shelves and a chair in there. _Two_ chairs. Soft ones. I’m jealous.”

A little room, just for her. How... _romantic._ “I haven’t seen anything except Cade’s face, Arthur’s face, and the hallway since I woke up, really. There haven’t even been many gawkers because of Cade’s ruthless visitation policies, although some people _do_ take an unnecessary amount of time to walk past the door.”

Brandis grinned. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to see it once you can stand up again, I’m sure. So, what do you think of him?”

Oh, _here_ it fucking was. “Him?”

“Come on, you can’t play the dumb card with me. Danse said he’s been in here every day Cade didn’t chase him off. What do you think of our little Arthur?” Brandis leaned forward, face wrinkling up with savage delight at the way her cheeks heated.

“Well, you know damn well what it’s like to be around your soulmate for the first time. He’s very distracting. It’s _annoying.”_ Hadassah picked at a frayed spot on her blanket. “And he talks too much.”

“Hah!” Brandis slapped a hand against her shoulder, carefully. “Aww, give the kid a chance. He was so excited when he first saw you. Danse said he _almost_ smiled. First time for everything. Wish I’d have been here to see you puke all over him, though. I got put on dish cleaning duty for laughing about it. Bunch of tightwads around here if you ask me. When did everyone get so _serious?_ ”

Hadassah rolled her eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to help him get it in or shoot him down by proxy.”

“Can’t an old man have it both ways?”

“So,” Hadassah said, laying a hand over Brandis’s arm, “how _is_ Paladin Danse doing? Apparently I was...a little harsh with him when they brought me up here.”

“Oh I heard about that one,” Brandis said, his grin growing impossibly more mischievous. “He’s doing quite well. Over in maintenance right now, in fact.”

“It’s just that I haven’t seen him recently, and I wondered if he might be…” 

“Well, given all the _exceptionally_ kind and loving things you shouted at him under the influence of painkillers every time he poked his head in, I think he assumes you don’t want to see him.” 

“Oh.” Hadassah screwed her eyes shut, feeling the flames return to lap at her cheeks. “Right. That. Do you think I could convince anyone that I have no idea what I said?” 

“Probably not. I’ll tell you one thing though, you taught this old soldier some brand new insults. No easy task, that. I’m eager to try them out on the initiates once they let me lead drills again.”

“Right. Well, if you wouldn’t mind, could you let him know I’d like to talk to him? I really should apologize. I know I didn’t get along with him all the time but he was good to me and I feel bad. Chems or no chems.”

“Can do.” Brandis shifted in his chair, peering out into the hallway before leaning in even closer, conspiratorially. “So, do they know you’re trying to find your nephew? Got any plans there?”

Hadassah picked at the fray in her blanket again. “I don’t know yet. I know Arthur’s not telling me everything he knows. I just--well, you know how it is for me. I just got free of all my obligations from before, was in the middle of starting a new life on my own terms, and...I can’t think about it too much. I can’t _be_ angry up here. If I’m angry they’ll watch me and then I’ll never get away.”

“Get away?”

“I don’t want to stay here, Brandis. I don’t want _this._ I don’t want to _be_ here. Everyone’s been nice to me so far, but how long will that last when they start asking for things I don’t want to give? I’m just--I feel like the more they know, the more they’ll take it from me. This is a whole-ass paramilitary operation and I’m just one person. How easy would it be for them to say that I can’t handle what I want to do and just take it all over? I just want _some_ thing for me that someone else isn’t controlling. I had it when I first woke up. Now it’s gone. And as soon as they find out about my apparent incompatibility with the modern environment I’ll be _lucky_ if I so much as get put out on a leash.”

“I know how you feel,” he said. He rested a hand over hers. “I went through similar issues. If it helps, the Brotherhood actually has edicts _against_ keeping soulmates against their will. We’ve got quite a bit of...bad history, there. It’s not like it was when I was young and the chapter was falling apart at the seams. But you’re here, either way.” 

She nodded. “I’m here.”

“And I’m here, too. You know I’ll support whatever it is you want to do,” Brandis said. “But think about giving the boy a chance to explain himself. He’s been waiting his whole life for you, being constantly reminded of how vital it is that he finds you and makes you happy. Whatever you hear about him from everybody else, he’s just a man. A man desperate to win you over and gain your support. You have more power than you think. A lot of people here are more on your side than his if it comes down to you leaving. Keep your cards close. Don’t throw the game just yet.”

“Seduce him until he lets me back out into the field?”

“I mean, whatever works. He definitely won’t be comfortable letting you go alone, I’m afraid. For safety reasons--you must realize that. It’s strategically unwise, and not just because you’re bonded. You’ll have a guard with you for your protection if you leave. One that you will have command over, mind. Not a babysitter. But something close. There was one elder’s soulmate out in the Mojave who fucked off with her soulguard for two whole years before coming back. So you have options, right? The little committee they’ve got going here errs on the side of your decision, officially. Not too bad a gig.”

“I guess,” Hadassah sighed. “It’s gonna be Paladin Danse, isn’t it? They’re gonna make him babysit me.”

“I believe he requested that very thing two days ago. He’s become quite fond of you.”

“He sounds like a disappointed dad every time he talks to me.”

“That’s how you _know_ he cares. Oh, and here.” Brandis reached for his waist and produced Gun, brilliantly clean and predictably lacking ammunition. “My husband finished this up for you. Didn’t want to take his oily little hands off of it.”

“Your husband is Proctor Teagan?” She turned the gun over in her hands, but true to Arthur’s word it didn’t seem to have been mishandled in any way.

“Heard of him, have you?”

“By reputation only I’m afraid. You should bring him next time you visit.” 

The intercom buzzed. A man’s voice echoed through the halls stressing the importance of using condoms. No further context was provided.

“They’re still making those?” Hadassah sat Gun down on her little table next to the Pip Boy.

“Of _course_ they’re still making those. If you survive the bombs just to die of terminal gonorrhea, that’s just depressing.”

“God.”

“It’s just Brandis, sweetheart. So we still doin’ our book club or what? _Nightwood_ is calling my name.”

* * *

When she felt well enough to sit up for more than twenty minutes at a time, more visitors began to trickle in. Before it had just been Arthur and, for the past couple days, Brandis. Cade had insisted she was too weak for regular “social stimulation” and he barely tolerated her reading the books Arthur continued to “forget” in his chair. 

In spite of Cade’s insistence that she live a life lacking in all pleasure until his all-clear, however, he couldn’t stop _every_ one who tried to see her. Haylen stopped by with a bootleg Jenga set and a chipper attitude one afternoon, requesting more pre-war stories.

“Now that I know you’re not completely full of shit, I might actually learn something, you know?” Haylen carefully removed the first block and the tower collapsed immediately. It was hard to play Jenga on a giant metal blimp that constantly swayed in the wind.

“Are people jealous of you since you’re in my exclusive inner circle? Think of all the favoritism I could bestow upon you.” Hadassah helped gather the blocks from where they’d fallen onto the sheets.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Oh, and everyone’s obsessed with the water heater you made at the station. People fight over bathing rights. Four people have been in the brig overnight because of it.”

“Damn, I should start charging you guys for my schematics.” Hadassah glanced over at Cade, trying to see if he was listening in; as usual for this time of day, some mysterious sample collection occupied his attention. “I wanted to ask you for some more resources. I want to learn about what the Brotherhood of Steel thinks about soulmates. Formal and informal writings, official and unofficial correspondence, anything you can find. It’s important.”

“Can do. I’ll check in with Proctor Quinlan. I’m sure he’d be delighted to come bother you.” 

“Wonderful.” Hadassah collected the last block and dropped it into the leather bag Haylen proffered. “Sooooo...how’s Rhys doing? Okay? Not in trouble, I hope.”

Haylen cracked up, and Hadassah joined in after a few seconds, feeling lighter than she had in days. She almost, _almost_ forgot that she wanted to run away, change her name, and start a new life across whatever political borders still existed in this hellhole just to escape the weight of responsibility the Commonwealth kept heaping upon her. Just for a minute. Across the bond and somewhere catty-corner to Cade’s office, she felt a gentle spark of interest from Arthur as he registered her lighter mood.

It was _almost_ enough to make her believe she could settle down and be happy for once.

* * *

Arthur spent every meal with her that he could, peppering her with questions about her life before the vault, particularly what life had been like in prewar militaries. There was no use pretending she was a civilian anymore, a farce she’d considered as a way to get Arthur to underestimate her; from the questions he asked, it seemed as though no one had entirely figured out which side she’d really worked for. He knew she worked in espionage, but the details were scarce on why exactly she’d infiltrated the places she told Danse she’d been.

Not that she intended on clearing _that_ up anytime soon. While she tried to remain polite, Hadassah had no intention of giving him anything that could be used against her, and so most of her answers were as concise as they were noncommittal. She felt his frustration grow the longer she kept this up, but she was nothing if not stubborn. Each time he visited, he would reach a breaking point sooner or later and talk about prewar civilian life instead, a topic which he knew was safer and produced better conversation.

She was alarmed how difficult it was to deny him access to her feelings, though she shouldn’t have been surprised given her experience as Zao’s soulmate. She’d grown used to the admiral over time, prickly as he was, but she’d forgotten how _intense_ the connection was at the start. Remaining emotionally distant from Arthur challenged her, all the more so given the natural charisma he possessed on top of her instinctive urge to trust him. It was easy to see how he’d built up a group of such loyal followers. 

When she tired of his questions, Hadassah countered with some of her own: questions about his life in the wasteland or his plans for the future. He answered with an earnest passion that made her feel a little moonstruck at times. 

A thought popped in her mind on more than one occasion that, if she allowed herself to be too taken in by him, she really would end up staying here of her own free will. And that would be far worse than forced entrapment. It was all too easy to slip back into that headspace where she convinced herself that completely trusting her soulbond meant safety and comfort, only to find out they were fucking her over the entire time.

But Arthur seemed like a _good_ person, despite his exhausting insistence on visiting three times daily and the fact that she hadn’t seen him smile, not even once. On his way to visit her, he stopped and spoke with nearly every Brotherhood member he crossed paths with; he knew their names, their projects, and the last thing he’d spoken to them about. Someone like that wasn’t pretending to care.

And then it got harder for Hadassah to convince herself that his questions grew out of a desire to hold something over her head; rather, he came across as wanting to connect with the soulmate he’d been waiting his whole life for. She just wished she had the proper time and space to consider the idea that he wasn’t completely horrible. Maybe they could’ve met for drinks in Goodneighbor. Nice, neutral ground. Maybe they’d have had sex in the bathroom at the Third Rail. The very idea made her giggle.

“Did I say something amusing?” Arthur looked up from his tray of miscellaneous chunks of military meat. 

“Oh, uh, no. I was just thinking.” She made a mountain out of the green goop and imagined a tiny man skiing down the slimy slopes.

‘High calorie. You need to put some weight back on. There are starving kids in Diamond City. Eat it,’ had been Cade’s deadpan response to her complaints about the food.

“What were you thinking about?” Arthur watched her make a second mountain out of a second pile of pink goop. 

“Um. Just some stuff. It’s not important.”

“All right.” Arthur took another bite and considered her with a serious expression. She could actually _feel_ the furious turning of his mind across the bond as he plotted his next assault on her indifference.

She really had to hand it to this boy. He did not give up.

“So, how are you liking the Prydwen so far?” To the casual observer, Arthur Maxson appeared quite invested in his food. This close and intimately connected, she knew better and could feel the nervousness and desire to please. As much as the petty monster living in her brain wanted to come out and cause havoc, she couldn’t bring herself to act snobbish when he’d done nothing so far to incur her snappishness. That didn’t stop her from _thinking_ about it, though.

“I don’t know,” Hadassah said, shrugging. “All I’ve seen is this room. I don’t remember them bringing me up. I know what this room looks like, and I know what it looks like from far away.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. Well...how do you like the books? I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought a variety when we left the Citadel.”

“They’re fine. It was nice of you to think of me.” 

“It’s nothing. There’s a small room I had prepared for you, for when you’re feeling better. It’s _your_ room. The books are kept in there, and there’s space for a few other things. I thought you might appreciate having some privacy. It’s hard to come by up here.”

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

He had a method, Hadassah figured out, when it came to his questions. At first she’d thought them random, but it didn’t take too long for her to notice the game he was playing. He’d start out with innocent questions, lull her into a sense of complacency, and then hit her with something intensely personal or insightful. 

His tactics certainly resulted from his frustration at her lack of interaction: if she wouldn’t talk about books, then perhaps she’d talk about her connection to the Chinese? If she had no opinions about the Commonwealth’s lack of trees, then perhaps she’d discuss her stealth suit? If she’d had no direct access to his emotional output, she’d have thought him Machiavellian. But she _did_ have that access, and he didn’t feel sneaky, just desperate. The possibility of innocence was the only thing that kept her from throwing the rest of her lunch in his lap at his next inquiry.

“Who is Ruthie?”

Hadassah froze. He saw.

“Where did you hear that name?” And now she was too defensive and far too revealing.

“When you were being treated with the painkillers, you asked for her several times. Was she the same Ruth in the vault with you? We found resident records.”

It _felt_ like it should have been malicious. Asking something like that when it was so obvious he already knew who Ruthie was to her. But over the bond, once again, there was nothing to suggest such a thing. Had he really asked her something like that like they were already bonded, already trusting one another with that kind of vulnerability?

And yet.

She had seen her sister’s cat catch a chipmunk once, when she was little. It was a brutal affair and the chipmunk practically ripped itself apart trying to get away from the cat. Of course the cat had won in the end, but it hadn’t even eaten the poor thing. 

As her silence drew out, she began to feel a twinge of Arthur’s regret, which calmed her somewhat, but her mood had soured past the point of continuing her little game with him. They’d been in the vault. Of course. They’d gone through the records, seen the frozen neighbors, maybe even visited the little graves she and Codsworth had dug. How _dare_ he. That was _her_ life, _her_ past. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just thought--never mind.” 

She clenched the sheet so hard that her knuckles whitened. Arthur glanced down at her hands and shifted awkwardly, his regret now visible on his face and in the way his shoulders tensed.

“Why do you know about any of that? It’s not your business.”

“When you were unconscious, Cade noticed a few things that confirmed you were pre-war.” Arthur’s voice was steady, but Hadassah could hear the regret as clearly as she could feel it. 

“Your...sensitivity...to radiation, for one, and what appeared to be cosmetic and genetic modifications. To assist with your care I sent a team to Vault 111 to access anything we could about your medical history from the records. We found records that matched your DNA but not the name you gave anyone in the Brotherhood. We also found that your pod had been opened remotely. Do you know who may have done that?”

“I have no idea. Why are you even asking me this?”

Arthur straightened up in his chair. “We believe your data was sabotaged intentionally, but we aren’t certain who did it. If you know, it’s vital that you tell us. The vault break-in has all the hallmarks of an Institute operation--they’ve raided one or two vaults in the Capital Wasteland area--but whoever corrupted your data manually did not use Institute hacking protocols.” 

He started to clasp his hands together, wavered, and returned his hands to balance the tray on his lap. “I’ve upset you. I apologize.”

Hadassah flattened Goop Mountain. “I don’t like it when people know things about me without my permission. Or when people hide things from me. You don’t know what’s best for me even if the universe decided to duct tape us together. When I--nevermind.”

An awkward silence settled in the clinic, and Hadassah wondered what Arthur would do if she just sat her tray aside and pretended to go to sleep on the spot.

“I can bring you everything we compiled on you,” Arthur said. “Would that make you happy?”

“It would be something, I guess.” 

Arthur dipped his head and finished the rest of his food in record time, citing some meeting he had to attend. Hadassah watched him leave, feeling drained. She sent out a nudge across the bond as stealthily as she could, in denial of her own desperation, to make sure she hadn’t hurt his feelings. 

He did not respond, being far too occupied with his own inner turmoil to notice her intrusion; Hadassah couldn’t quite put a name to his emotional state, but it felt an awful lot like someone beating themself over the head with a clipboard. 

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Scribe Haylen’s Workstation HN-118FS_

_Priority Communication_

_To: Elder Maxson MX-001E, Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR_

_Field Scribe Winona was able to successfully enter Goodneighbor posing as a trader. Initial efforts at acquiring information on Lady Maxson within Goodneighbor proper resulted in pushback. Much like the population of the Sanctuary settlement, in Goodneighbor there are multiple influential residents claiming to know Lady Maxson who became irate when the undercover scribe attempted to gather information. In particular, the mayor of Goodneighbor--a ghoul by the name of Hancock--threatened the scribe with a knife for asking “too many nosy little questions.”_

_Attempts to trade weapons for information only further deteriorated the situation. Thankfully, residents did not reveal suspicions of the scribe’s identity as a Brotherhood agent: Lady Maxson’s acquisition has become something of a hot topic in the Commonwealth as a result of caravan gossip, so Scribe Winona’s questions were not out of place._

_What information was recovered is unfortunate. Apparently, Lady Maxson had a nephew (some sources claim it was her son) who was taken from the vault during the break-in. Records from the vault and preliminary medical data from the victims put the break-in at approximately sixty years ago, meaning if her relative is still alive he would be in his sixties._

* * *

Paladin Danse came to visit her for dinner with his own tray of food, apologizing on Arthur’s behalf for being busy. Lingering wisps of the elder’s embarrassment drifting her way suggested otherwise, but given the negativity they’d parted on, Hadassah decided to leave well enough alone. Besides, it was nice to see the Paladin again. 

At the start of his visit there had been some discomfort as they danced around their new relationship to one another, but he accepted her request to continue using her nickname rather than the dreaded “Lady Maxson'' moniker, a name that made Hadassah feel like looking for some street urchins to kick. He also wholeheartedly accepted her apology for slut shaming him while under the influence and even let her in on his attempts to give Codsworth clearance aboard the Prydwen. 

“Why you desire the presence of a robot with entirely too much programmed personality is beyond me, but I admit his assistance in finding you was invaluable.”

“Assistance? Oh right, he told you where I was.” She took a bite of some sort of yellowish paste. Pleasantly, it tasted almost identical to fried yucca.

“Affirmative. With Elder Maxson’s bond to you, we would have found you eventually, but it might have been too late given your illness. Lancer-Captain Kells is, however, understandably leery of allowing Codsworth clearance given the robot’s, ah, unapproved modifications.”

Hadassah snorted. “You don’t like his secret hidden mini-nuke launcher?”

Paladin Danse gave a start, nearly losing some canned peas in the process. “I was not aware that--oh. You’re joking again.” He sighed. “How are you doing, Nora? You’re definitely looking healthier. We’ve all been worried about you.”

“I’m fine, I guess. I don’t want to be here, but I’m fine.”

Danse stared forlornly into his goop like a sad puppy, and Hadassah felt an uppercut of shame.

“I meant,” Hadassah amended, choosing her words with care, “that I want to be off the _Prydwen_. It makes me...really airsick. Cade has to keep putting patches on me.”

“Oh,” Paladin Danse said. The way his shoulders dropped in relief reminded her of Arthur. “I’ll see what I can do about that once you’re mobile again. I...put in a request to be assigned to you, as your soulmate guard. It means it will be my job to ensure your protection, given the importance of your position. I hope that doesn’t offend you. It’s technically optional and you have the right to refuse.”

A soulmate guard. So it was a whole Thing with a name and everything. Interesting. Hadassah made a mental note to look into it once she had access to the archives.

“I’m not mad at you, Paladin Danse,” Hadassah muttered. After a moment, she continued. “To be honest...I _was_ , but I understand you were just doing your job.”

“You can use my given name, if you like; since you’re permitting me to use yours, it’s only fair.”

“Sure. Thanks, Danse.”

A beat. “It wasn’t just because of my job, Nora. I really do wish things had gone differently for you. I know you weren’t ready. But when we found you, you were so ill that we thought--”

“It’s alright. I understand.” She smiled at him and he returned with a small, lopsided smile of his own. The stillness did not feel so stifling then and they finished the rest of their dinner in peace.

“Come visit me again, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

After the lights clicked over to the night cycle that evening, Hadassah scrunched down until her entire body was under the covers. Total sheet coverage, in her experience, promoted better thinking. She’d spent the last couple weeks recovering, the majority of that time sleeping, and even most of her conscious time hadn’t been to herself.

Poking her head above the covers once more, she strained her ears for noises in the hallway. Other than the distant clangs and murmurs of the night patrols, only the Prydwen itself made noise, and she’d learned to tune out its metallic moaning a while ago. She felt for Arthur, who’d settled not long ago into what had to be his room. 

Sickly green light glowed beneath the sheets as she switched her Pip Boy on to low light mode. 

_RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian_

_Notes Application_

_[new memo….]_

The cursor blinked. Tedium was the name of the game when it came to entering Pip Boy notes by hand--you had to peck out the letters and numbers on a tiny keyboard--but it wasn’t like she could sit here and gab into the microphone.

_[To do…]_

_Explore Prydwen_

  * _Take note of patrols and maintenance scheduling_
  * _Earn enough trust to be allowed on the ground - will they actually let me leave?_
  * _Find way out on ground (and from Prydwen??? → where is it anchored? Live cables??)_
  * _Research soulmates in the Brotherhood_
  * _What are their intentions with me??_



She hummed. That would do for now. This, at least, would help keep her focused and would serve as a place to compile information from the archives, should some data not download directly onto her Pip Boy. She password-protected the file, placed the Pip Boy on her table, and fell asleep within minutes.

* * *

Cade gave her a full physical exam the next day, but only at her request. He planned on discharging her that day, but from her recollection the man had only performed care based on her illness.

“Now I’m only releasing you from observation, you hear? I’ll be checking in on you twice a day for another two weeks. No exercise, no running off. _No_ extended trips to the surface. Not until you’re stable.”

“Yes, Cade.” She looked askance to where he stood behind his counter, unfolding her new clothes. “I have a question.”

“Hmm?”

“Aren’t you going to give me an official exam?”

Cade continued examining the clothes. “I can get to it eventually. No need to do one now, if you’re not prepared. I don’t have any standing orders to rush it.”

“I thought you’d want to jump on it, since I’m the Elder’s soulmate and all. I’m getting the sense that people up here are unreasonably concerned about my existence.”

“Obsession is more like it,” Cade muttered.

Hadassah raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re not my number one fan, Cade. That hurts. I thought we had something special.”

“Never said I didn’t like you. Just don’t personally subscribe to the notion that _our_ very existence depends on you being here. But don’t you mind me.”

“Who doesn’t want you talking to me about it?”

“A bunch of people I don’t care to rile up. Now, let’s talk about your PT schedule and then we’ll get that physical out of the way.”

_Hmm._

* * *

The cat, a tabby named Emmett belonging to Proctor Quinlan across the hall, visited Hadassah for dinner later that evening. He jumped up onto her cot, sending twice-boiled carrots onto her lap and her plastic water cup onto the floor. Post-apocalyptic cats still enjoyed behind-the-ear scratches, or at least Emmett did, and while Arthur wiped her water off of the floor Hadassah occupied herself by seeing how loudly she could make Emmett purr.

It was, Arthur remarked quietly, the first time he’d ever seen Hadassah smile.

She felt a tug at the corner of her mouth as she struggled to keep her expression neutral. “I know. It’s been hard for me. Waking up to an apocalyptic hellhole and then nearly dying in said hellhole is not a happiness-inducing experience. Nothing is the way I thought it would be.”

His chair creaked as he shifted. “I could make you happy if you let me. I know I could.”

Her smile turned soft again as she looked him in the face, finding his countenance serious and determined. “You can’t make people happy, Arthur. It just happens, sometimes. And anyway, you don’t _have_ to make me happy. You already have me. You have power and influence. You don’t have to try so hard. Why are you?”

Something in his eyes flashed too quickly for her to catch it, but across the bond she felt his temper flare up. She remembered, back before she’d suppressed herself completely from him, feeling a similar temper rise up throughout his day. His irritation was quick to spike but generally just as quick to subside. 

“This isn’t about showing off. It’s about what’s right. I’m meant to protect you and I intend to do that. I want to make you happy because you are my mate and it is right for me to please you and give you comfort. It’s right for us to be close. ‘Together we are stronger; divided we falter.’ And you especially need protection. This world almost killed you and I won’t give it a second chance. ‘It is right for a soulmate to be made content. Take care that your soulmate does not waste away in sorrow for the lives they held before.’”

“That sounds like it’s from a book somewhere.”

“It _is_ from a book somewhere. Ours. The Brotherhood would never have become what it is today without protecting soulbonds. My ancestors--” Arthur huffed, stabbing at the last bit of his miscellaneous chopped brahmin. He shoved it in his mouth without ceremony. 

“So this isn’t what you want? It’s just about duty to you?” She felt his irritation intensify.

“It happens to be both,” Arthur said. “I’ve wanted you my entire life. I’ve waited twenty years for you, not knowing if you were dying or trapped somewhere I couldn’t get to. And yes, the Brotherhood wants you to be here, as well. Scribe Haylen has been compiling information for you on the subject.”

So Haylen reported to the Big Man. Or another person she reported to did. Noted. “If that’s the case,” Hadassah said. “Then why haven’t you touched me?”

It was like a bomb went off in Arthur’s head, all of his higher processing obliterated by this single question. Even across the bond she felt the way all of his thoughts ceased, his irritation vaporizing into mist. Still as a deer spotting a wolf, he avoided her gaze. She observed the reddening of his neck with detached amusement.

“I mean it,” Hadassah said. “I’m not trying to be rude. I’m genuinely curious. You’ve had me up here how long, out of my mind on chems or sickness for most of it. You could’ve touched me then and balanced us, been done with that. But you aren’t touching me; you aren’t even asking for it, and all you’ve done is eat food with me and leave books in your chair. _Why?”_

The fight had gone out of him, but he set his shoulders and looked her in the eye when he answered, flushing be damned. “That’s not something you _do_ to someone while they’re unconscious. _I_ would never do that to you.” 

“And? Here I am now. Why not touch me now?” 

Arthur stiffened, and turned his eyes to the far wall. The blush crept up into his beard and she felt a tendril of desire as it coiled itself in his belly. “Is that...something you _want_ me to do to you right now?” 

“No,” Hadassah said. “I don’t, actually.” 

His jaw twitched. “Then I won’t. And I won’t until you let me.” 

Hadassah shook her head. “I don’t get it. You’re stronger than me even when I’m _not_ laid up. You could do whatever you wanted to me and I couldn’t stop you. Not like it stopped the other guy.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said wryly. “But I’m not the wasteland warlord you clearly think I am. I refuse to force this in any way. If your first soulmate treated you that way, I’m sorry. But that’s not how _I_ intend for this to go.” 

Hadassah gripped the threadbare blanket covering her lap until it very nearly tore. It wasn’t a surprise he knew she had a first soulmate. If Team Jenga knew, so would he. “Refusing to force this in ways _other_ than keeping me here, you mean.” 

Arthur met her gaze again. “I won’t apologize for providing you with emergency care when you were ill, or for searching for you in the first place. I had no idea you were so resistant to the idea of...this, and by the time I did know it was too late to take things slow in a manner that kept you safe. You are, of course, free to leave as soon as Knight-Captain Cade clears you to do so.”

But there was a twinge of Arthur’s fear accompanying the end of the sentence. Hadassah fought to match his stare; having Arthur’s full attention was an intense experience. 

“Okay,” she said. “I guess I’ll give you that one. You’re really going to wait until I make a move first?” 

“Of course,” said Arthur, his posture softening in relief at this tiny bit of conceded territory. He leaned his weight forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, bringing him below her eye level. “After everything that’s happened to you, I have no problem moving at whatever pace you decide to set. I just hope that we can...move forward from here.” 

The sheets rasped together as Hadassah shifted nervously. Okay. So she’d still have to work on convincing him to let her down on the ground, but she could work with this. He wanted reciprocal desire. She could do this. 

“Well,” she said. “All right, then.” 

Something in the atmosphere shivered, and Hadassah felt the bond between them pulse with the depth of his yearning. Come to think of it, she’d felt this from him before, when he’d been far away from her and traveling north. It wasn’t lust, but it was no less powerful for all its hunger. It was pure _want._ If she was being honest with herself, and Hadassah was rarely entirely honest with anyone, it frightened her far more than the lust ever would have. Looking into his eyes made her breath catch. 

“I want you to want me,” Arthur said quietly. “I’ll wait another twenty years for you if that’s what it takes.” His eyes burned holes right through her. 

Of course Cade chose that moment to walk back into the clinic, his nose buried in a file containing his notes on Hadassah. In spite of her effort to, she hadn’t been able to swipe them for even a quick glance in the days since she’d woken up. Cade either had them on his person or in his line of sight if he was in the clinic. Soon, Hadassah thought. Soon. 

The thickness in the air dissolved as quickly as it had formed, and Arthur shifted his attention to Cade, who presented Hadassah with a familiar small, square patch. 

“New motion sickness patches from Proctor Teagan,” Knight-Captain Cade said. “Peel the back off and stick it on your upper arm. One of these should last you a week. It won’t start working for about four hours, but the IV medication won’t wear off for another six, so you have plenty of time to transition. If you don’t react negatively to the patch, the Proctor can give you a whole pack.” 

He waited until Hadassah applied the patch, watching her hands, presumably, for a mistake. It didn’t bode well for average local intelligence, Hadassah thought, that a Brotherhood of Steel doctor felt he had to monitor a person for correct application of a sticker. But then, she _had_ watched in silent horror yesterday as a scribe in Quinlan’s office failed to operate a butterfly clip. And then she’d watched in fascination as said scribe burst into tears when she beckoned them over to assist. Perhaps the rank and file around here weren’t operating with a full payload. 

Cade cleared his throat gently, and Hadassah realized she’d been zoned out for a good sixty seconds. “Uh,” she said. “Sorry. What were you saying?” 

Cade brandished a pen light in that clinically terrifying manner only a seasoned doctor could pull off. _I’m going to shine this light in your eyes,_ the manner said, _whether you like it or not._ “I was saying that I think you’re ready to be discharged. Perhaps not, though. Are you having trouble concentrating, Lady Maxson?” 

An angry beam of light made her squint as he moved the pen back and forth. “No, no, sorry, I was just...thinking of something funny from yesterday.” For the sake of what little pride she had left, she wasn’t going to look in Arthur’s direction to verify the presence of a smug look. A flare of amusement at her expense was more than enough confirmation. Asshole. 

“Very well.” Cade deposited the pen into one of his infinite and mysterious pockets. “Then I’m discharging you from medical observation. I still want to check in on you twice a day for a week, as I said before. Come by in the afternoon after 1300 hours. You’re cleared to be physically active, and you should be, but only to a point. No vigorous exercise. No rich food. Keep your hydration and electrolytes up. I’ve already let the cooks know to give you several small meals a day, so don’t forget to stop by between standard chow times.” 

He unclipped a slip of paper from the clipboard and handed it out to Hadassah, who left it in her hand after searching in vain for pockets that frumpy patient wear simply did not possess. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, Lady Maxson. Elder.” Cade nodded respectfully in their direction, turned sharply on his heel, and then made his way out of the clinic, following the nighttime floor lights down the hall. When the sound of his footsteps faded, Arthur turned to Hadassah with a questioning look. 

“Turn around,” she said. “Nobody’s witnessing my awkward tumble from this cot but me and Emmett.” 

Arthur stood up. “It’s skin contact, as I’m sure you’re well aware; the bond won’t settle through fabric.” He held out a hand. He wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves he’d had on before; these ones were black and covered his entire hand. 

“I’ll close my eyes if you want,” he continued, and she stared at his palm to avoid looking at the hesitant smile on his face. His first for her. 

She took his hand. Though of course he was correct about the bond, Hadassah still wasn’t quite ready for the way her stomach fluttered when she felt the heat of his body through the leather, when his arm supported her weight effortlessly as she slipped off of the cot to stand, shaking, on her own two feet again. 

She _really_ wasn’t ready to sense an identical flutter from him in response. Every tell of his made her anxious when it should have excited her. Already, she felt her body betraying her plans. The bond wanted her to melt into his arms and kiss him breathless. His little moments of weakness, when his commanding facade slipped a bit to reveal the person underneath, should have drawn her attention for the possibility of exploitation; instead, they made her heart pound with anticipation and need. 

There was a danger in getting close with him too quickly, she knew. If she was ever going to get off this ship and continue her mission--whatever it turned out to be, because she still needed to process _that_ mental mess--she’d need to control the access she gave Arthur so that it was just right: enough to enamor him to her, but not so much that she fell in with him too soon. 

From their conversations together, she knew Arthur’s intelligence at least matched her own--he was probably a lot smarter, actually, not that she’d ever admit it to Brandis--and his strategic intelligence left her in the dust. But social and emotional intelligence, on the other hand...she had him beat there. For a person so professional and aloof with everyone else--even her, at times--she alone had access to the space in his head where he’d left a softer, naive piece of himself unprotected.

But she would have to be careful. Hadassah knew she wasn’t the type to fall in love quickly, so that wasn’t an issue. And while Arthur was an attractive man, her desire for him came mostly from the bond. With everyone else aside from Zao and Arthur, it took her a long time for her to open up platonically, much less romantically.

Come to think of it, she thought as Arthur gently led her around a technician performing hull maintenance, she’d never fallen in love with anyone who _wasn’t_ her soulmate.

Floor lights guided them the rest of the way through the darkened ship. Stopping to stare felt like showing more curiosity than she should at the moment, so Hadassah kept her eyes forward and ignored the fact that she hadn’t yet let go of Arthur’s hand. She _was_ still sick, after all. Sick people needed physical support. Tomorrow...she’d get her shit together. Tomorrow.

It wasn’t as though there was much to see now but the night patrollers, in any case. It was a regular Welcome to the Prydwen - Night Shift Edition: we got solid metal, we got darkness, we got ominous creaking, and on Fridays we got indistinct humanoid shapes off in the distance surrounded by a halo of artificial light. 

Best not to pay too much attention, really. Two guards saluted them at the end of the hallway, and Arthur opened a door there leading to a small, simple room. “Wait here,” he murmured. A light came on at a desk pushed up against a wall of thick windows, exposing her and illuminating the room with a gentle glow. 

“You can sleep there.” He gestured to a double bed against the wall to her right. “I’ll go on the couch.” 

She nodded. There was nothing else to say. Couch and bed had been made ahead of time with sheets and pillows. Hadassah approached the bed, hoping he couldn’t see her legs shake from the effort of standing after being bedridden for so long. The covers had been tucked in with exacting precision. Hospital corners. She almost felt bad for pulling the top layer back. 

Safely enveloped in the thin and disappointing textiles of military issue bed linens, she turned away from Arthur and the light. “Good night.” 

“Good night.” 

She was proud of herself for not starting to cry until twenty minutes after the lamp clicked off again. 

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mail Terminal Maxson MX-001E_

_Encrypted Communication_

_Fr: Knight-Captain Cade CD-440KC_

_To: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_Medical File [registration pending]_

_Hadassah Eleanor Sarkissian_

_Medical Examination as Requested by the Brotherhood Council of Elders: to be forwarded by Elder Arthur J. Maxson_

_I wasn’t able to do any invasive examinations, but the state of her body modifications are interesting. It may be that she underwent experimentation by a pre-war genetics or healthcare corporation. Full extent unknown._

_There is evidence of minor cosmetic surgery primarily on the face, and also in the pelvic region. Her leg bones are reinforced with some sort of porous metallic structure inside which the bones have grown - it is likely in response to a catastrophic leg injury, based on evidence of healed fractures - there also appear to be alterations to her eyes, as her visual acuity is far beyond that of natural possibility._

_Her heart is weak and she has issues with blood pressure stability - she was not entirely forthcoming with the details of any of the aforementioned genetic alterations or history of heart troubles, but she did admit to experimental surgical work having been done that impacted her health in negative ways, which she has chosen not to elaborate on at this time._

_I recommend waiting until she feels more settled before pressing for further information, as nothing appears to be an immediate concern. The stress from a detailed health interview could impact her mental stability at this time, which could further deteriorate any preexisting conditions._

_All inoculations that can be done have been administered. In two weeks she will need additional boosters for Cave Rot Fever and Glowing Lung. She will continue to be more sensitive to radiation than most. I prescribed daily doses of Rad-X even when inside the Prydwen._

_Note: She appears to be fertile_ ~~_and possesses a simple copper IUD device that she requested I not remove at this time. Please advise._~~

_[document edited by administrative override AJM 01.19.2288 1327]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE how much people are responding to this! Talking to people is my favorite part about writing. If you've been lurking the whole time and haven't commented yet, feel free to do so at any time. It is not weird to comment randomly throughout a work. I will only be happy to see you pop up in my inbox.
> 
> Your feral comment prompts, as usual:
> 
> 1\. Leave a nice thank you note for my husband: our fic beta, lord, and savior! I will read them aloud to him if you do.
> 
> 2\. Who does Paladin Danse need to level a Disappointed Dad stare on next?
> 
> 3\. Is Brandis kind of an enabler? Do we love him anyway even though this could be Problematic and he might get cancelled by Desdemona on Railroad Twitter?
> 
> 4\. Do Arthur Maxson’s social skills leave something to be desired? Tell me your Top 2 favorite Awkward Moments.
> 
> 5\. Are you proud of me for breaking the canon plot immediately by pushing late game revelations to, like, circa the second main quest? What WILL I use to maintain narrative tension? (It’s the cup stacking tournament that will determine the fate of the Commonwealth.)
> 
> 6\. What manner of shady shit is going on up in this floating metal binch?


	8. Poseidon Energy quivers before him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local disaster grandpa reassures/antagonizes magical wish-granting rat; local robot overlord dispenses advice, support; local Maxson confronted with own inability to converse about feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [JK Rowling voice]: Actually Hadassah has been wearing glow in the dark purple bell bottom pants this entire time. I just didn’t mention it because it wasn’t important to the plot.

He woke her the next morning, not over the bond, but by the sounds of his morning routine. At first she couldn’t remember where she was as the sight of the hull inches from her face startled her out of sleep. Then she remembered and relaxed while eavesdropping on Arthur. 

She could hear him folding a blanket and placing it back on the couch; the rustle of cloth told her he dressed quickly, in no nonsense fashion. Only time would tell whether this behavior was habitual or out of respect for her preference.

A nearly soundless slide of plastic on metal hinted at the presence of an internal room. The bathroom, it must have been, confirmed moments later by the sound of running water. Hadassah listened and curled in on herself, wondering if she should greet him when he came out, for he surely knew she was awake. Fatigue wore out in the end, dragging her back to sleep before he left. She checked her Pip Boy--9:30 AM, good god--and made plans for her day.

Proctor Quinlan made sense as a starting point to gather information, she thought as she wriggled out of the covers. It would make sense to eventually speak with all high ranking officers--she genuinely wanted to meet this Proctor Teagan--but Quinlan controlled the local archival data. If she could get on his good side, that would make all the difference.

Hadassah hissed when her feet touched the mercilessly cold, stripped surface of the bathroom floor. She stopped and stared at the sink for a minute, stunned by the intensely domestic sight of two toothbrushes in a cup, one of them new. There was something deeply unsettling about the image, and the emotions it inspired were not ones she wanted to dwell on at the moment.

Finished with her morning wash, she nosed around in Arthur’s room for the next hour. Unsurprisingly, Arthur did not keep too many physical effects. He might very well have been a pack rat back home, but soldiers on the move did not keep much on their person. But while she missed the chance to see the entirety of his possessions, she considered that sometimes what people took with them on limited notice said far more about who they were. 

She was halfway through peeking at his weekly terminal messages when a knock at the door came. 

“Nora? Are you well? May I come in?” Danse.

“Yeah, you can come in.”

The hatch swung open to reveal the man himself, in rare form outside of his power armor.

“Everything all right? You didn’t show up for breakfast or your snack. I was concerned.”

“Oh, shit. Cade doesn’t like me to miss Snackie Time. What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“Jesus. Sorry. I got distracted.”

He squinted at Arthur’s terminal, very obviously open to an old message she probably wasn’t supposed to read. “I see. Well, I thought you might want to get a tour of the Prydwen now that you’re up on your feet again.”

“That sounds nice, actually. Let’s go.”

“Are you...going like that?”

Hadassah looked down at herself. A blanket and one of Arthur’s t-shirts she’d stolen from his dresser perhaps did not represent proper attire  _ any _ where, but it was comfortable as hell.

“I’m sick and I plan on milking that until I can’t milk it anymore. I’m sucking those victim titties all the way dry.”

Danse cleared his throat. “...Very well. We need to stop by Knight-Captain Cade’s, first.”

She received startled greetings from everyone on the ship, a testament to Cade’s determination in scaring away the gawkers. For most people, Danse murmured in her ear, this outing served as their first introduction to the Elder’s soulmate in the flesh. 

“Well I would’ve put on some real clothes if I’d have known  _ that, _ ” she hissed back. 

Cade looked somewhat exasperated when she arrived, his hands already reaching for her wrist to get her pulse before she’d put both feet inside the clinic. A few minutes and a snack later, they stopped in Proctor Quinlan’s office, who continued to treat Hadassah like an angel descended from heaven. 

Proctor Ingram, Danse said as they passed through the maintenance area, had gone down to the surface for the day to run some tests, and Scribe Neriah would have to meet her later, as Cade had barred her from getting too close to any biological samples before she’d fully stabilized. 

Danse saved Proctor Teagan for last at her request. Hadassah had a feeling that this stop would be longest and hopefully full of amazing gossip about her favorite Star Paladin. Unfortunately for Hadassah’s evil plans, the only ass sticking up out of the supply crates at the cage belonged to Star Paladin Brandis.

“Seamus is down at the airport with Ingram,” he said, wiping down the counter with a dirty rag. “He’s dying to meet you, though.”

“That’s too bad,” Hadassah said. She stood up on her toes to try and see farther into the supply room. “Why’s he down there?”

“Codsworth, actually. He’s doing a final clearance check on the modifications. Nice work on those, by the way. How’d you fit a fourth arm with a flaming chainsaw on there?”

Danse pursed his lips, obviously disapproving of the whole thing, but held his tongue. Brandis, eagle eyed, caught the movement and raised an eyebrow in Danse’s direction.

“After all the work Codsworth did helping snatch your little prize up, don’t you think he deserves the benefit of the doubt,  _ Paladin _ Danse?”

“I think,  _ Star _ Paladin Brandis...sir,” Danse said, “that it’s inappropriate for a robot to have such advanced personality AI. If I’m grateful for anything, it’s that it hasn’t gone haywire and torched the barracks. And we wouldn’t have  _ needed  _ the assistance of a Mr. Handy in the first place if you hadn’t--”

Brandis tilted his head, regarding the younger man with a catlike smile. “If I hadn’t encouraged our delicate charge to seek out her own destiny in the wastes? Need I remind you,  _ Paladin _ Danse, that I am a very old man on medical leave for intense psychological trauma? I can hardly be held accountable for my actions at the time. But you can hardly deny I care for the girl. Look at her, so happy to see me. Aren’t you, Hadassah?”

Danse squinted at her. “Hadassah?”

_ “Oh,” _ Brandis said in exaggerated shock. “I’m so sorry. That information probably hasn’t been cleared for you yet, Paladin Danse. Not that I needed the memo. As you know we met early in her adventures, at which time her proper and rightful title was revealed to me. It’s Armenian, if you don’t know. Her family came from there  _ ages _ ago. One of the many things we discussed that didn’t make the final cut of my report. But it’s fine. I’m sure whatever nickname she’s chosen for you to use is just fantastic.”

Hadassah actually  _ saw _ Danse’s blood pressure rise. Hadassah laughed nervously and cut into the conversation before teeth grinding turned into Brandis getting his reedy ass slapped into next week, Danse’s terminal patience be damned. 

“I  _ am _ so glad to see you, Star Paladin Brandis. It’s so nice to see you all...clean and shiny. But um, I’m sure Paladin Danse means well.”

“Well, there you go. She’s happy to see me. Now don’t you have knights to torment down at the shooting range, Paladin?”

“Actually, Star Paladin Brandis, my duties have been--”

“Off you go, lad. I’ll entertain the lady for the next hour.”

“...Sir.”

They both watched Danse’s stiff departure, Hadassah’s eyes drawn somewhat lower than what would be considered appropriate. She had no plans to tap that, but if the merchandise was blatantly available for window-shopping, then she practically  _ had _ to look. Once Brandis opened the cage door for her, she went inside and immediately started poking around in the crates.

“You can help get some of the dirt off of these,” Brandis said, pointing at a pile of guns. “The scribes bring back armfuls of this shit.” 

“He’s a good boy, Danse,” Brandis continued, handing Hadassah a pistol to clean. “But he needs to get off my ass about what I will and will not divulge regarding your person and what I did and did not do in the days before you ran off. He’ll never understand what it’s like, you know. Being soulbound. You look for every little bit of freedom you can from these people, sometimes. Sometimes it’s running off, sometimes it’s mouthing off. If I had a colored stone tile for every reprimand relating to shit-talking I could go down there and mosaic the whole goddamn airport.”

Hadassah nodded. Then she bumped Brandis with her shoulder, carefully. “Hey, didn’t you tell  _ me _ to be nice to Paladin Danse? What was  _ that  _ all about?”

“Told you. He needs to get off my old man ass. I already have someone permanently assigned to that department. Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Brandis, you are something else. A man after my own heart.” She gave him a side-eye. “I was a little disappointed at first, but it’s probably for the best that Arthur didn’t assign you as my babysitter. I think we would actually wind up destroying the world a second time, somehow.”

“Oh, I agree completely. So how  _ is  _ that young man of yours? I see you finally shacked up. Didn’t sound like anything exciting happened, though.” A beat. “Hello, I’m Brandis and I live right next door to you. So glad we finally get to meet.”

Hadassah grinned, holding her hand out for another dirty gun. “Naw, nothing happened. Not in the clinic, not in his room. It was kind of rough at Cade’s for a while, though. He honestly would just come in there and  _ interrogate _ me like this whole thing isn’t some nightmare I keep praying to wake up from. First I get kidnapped, then scribes steal all my shit, then I get married or something without my permission while in a chem-fueled haze, then I wake up and get cross-examined by my warlord husband. He kept asking me all these intrusive questions about my life.”

“What sort of questions?” 

“Like, what I did before the war. What happened in Vault 111. What I’m trying to accomplish ‘out there.’ Stuff that’s none of his business.” 

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but those  _ do _ sound a bit like questions anyone might ask their soulmate having just met them. I also do not recall a wedding. As the highest ranking officer under Elder and XO it is likely I would have been invited. Also, in order to be a warlord, one  _ technically _ must control a smaller piece of territory within a sovereign state. So...” Brandis held his palms out in an exaggerated shrug. 

“Ethan Brandis, I’m  _ trying _ to be angry right now. You could at least be a good friend and facilitate my righteous indignation by agreeing with everything I say. Oh, don’t you laugh at me. Is this how you treat the woman who literally bathed you and nursed you back to sanity? For free, I might add.” 

Brandis snorted a second time. “I can see why he’s so frustrated with you. ‘Suppose I should count myself lucky you didn’t come across my bunker  _ after  _ you met him and took up all this repressed rage. Things might have ended much differently. More violence, fewer heart-to-heart conversations.” 

“Brandis, you are perfect and can do nothing wrong. Arthur is just trying to bully me into submission until I give him the Special Touch.” 

“‘Bully you into submission.’” Brandis rolled his eyes. “Is that what they’re calling painfully awkward flirting these days? So here’s a radical idea for your consideration: he’s merely a very young man who’s finally been able to connect with the other half of his soul and whatnot, a woman he’s been able to sense without any hope of finding for twenty years.  _ I’d  _ certainly want to know everything about her. And, if I found her to be reticent, my excitement  _ might  _ get the best of me at times.” 

And he was right, of course. Not that she’d ever, ever admit it. Arthur truly hadn’t done anything worthy of her scorn, but she felt like she  _ should _ be angry at the whole thing.

“Brandis, I am of the belief that nothing beyond living alone in a bunker for three years could sway your sense of calm certainty of your place in the world. You would never have been so  _ forward _ like that.” 

“You haven’t seen me halfway through a bottle of tequila.” 

“Besides, there are some serious problems already in effect that in  _ my  _ mind make this whole relationship a non-starter.” 

A tall man in brownish, nondescript field armor approached the cage, tripping over his feet as he gawked openly at Hadassah. Brandis snapped to get his attention.

“Ah, here you are, Knight Lopez. Practically good as new. Proctor Teagan kindly requests you not use your laser rifle as a battering ram in the future. Such as...?” Brandis motioned for Hadassah to continue.

“Problem number one, I think he’s got it in his head that he is smarter than me  _ and _ that he can trick me into liking him, which is honestly ridiculous.” 

“Is it all that ridiculous? I’ve met both of you and he might be on the money there.” Brandis gave her that damnable cat-smile.

“What, that he can successfully trick me into liking him?” 

“Mmm. Not that part.” 

“Oh, wow. Maybe I’ll just leave you alone in the Teagan Cave, then.”

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application _

_ Fr: RobCo User STURGES _

_ Hey there it’s Sturges. Haven’t heard from you in a minute so I thought I’d reach out. Professor Scara arrived in Sanctuary two days ago to start work on the turret packages for settlements. We both think it’s a great idea and Arlen Glass has been in touch also. Preston says hello and he hopes to hear from you soon. Mama Murphy says beware the wandering man and also to behave yourself her words not mine. _

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application _

_ Fr: User mr business comma nunya _

_ Hello is this thing on _

_ They didn’t ritually sacrifice you did they _

_ Saw your adopted Wasteland ex-raider rat boy. He's pretty neat _

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application _

_ Fr: Rear Admiral Hui Zao _

_ Haddie. If they think they can just keep you up there doing whatever they please, they’ve got another think coming. My nuclear payload may be done for, but I still have the IDAS payload. I know they have you. That little boy from The Slog has been sneaking around for me gathering information. I don’t know why that bastard thinks he can just keep you locked away. If you don’t respond in another two weeks I’m going to blast that piece of shit from the sky. _

* * *

Flustered and sweaty, Danse returned an hour later to escort Hadassah back to Proctor Quinlan for a longer visit. They wound up spending the rest of the afternoon and evening together discussing Hadassah’s intern experience with the local prewar corporations, with the Paladin ducking in and out of maintenance as he tinkered with his power armor.

Surprisingly, the Proctor had been supportive right away of her suggestion that Arthur allow her on sweep and retrieve missions. He did express concerns for her physical safety, but her combat experience combined with her technical knowledge had the man convinced within an hour that Hadassah embodied his best hope for acquiring the  _ real _ good shit. 

“And it  _ is _ tiresome to send out a patrol sans scribe only to have them come back with...oh, silly things like employee absence reports. Honestly, I don’t know why I bother sometimes.”

Emmett provided further opportunities to ingratiate herself. An escaped vault cat, Emmett had warmed Quinlan’s bed for the past seven years through thick and thin, earning the affection of the crew through both his cuteness and propensity for taking down errant mole rats.

It got Hadassah talking about her own childhood pets and the sweet little pregnant calico she’d seen slinking through the alleyways in Goodneighbor. Their time together ended on the subject of cat trees, an invention the Wasteland had forgotten and for which Quinlan felt properly horrified not to own.

“I’ll make one,” Hadassah said, happy to have an express pass to get on Quinlan’s good side. “It’ll be a nice project for me to take up some time while I’m getting better. I’ll just need a few things.”

Quinlan passed Hadassah a box of paper and instructed her to pick out anything with schematics on them. She began methodically going through the box, feeling Arthur’s presence nearby on one of his walks through the hallways. They’d managed to avoid bumping into one another all day, though not for Arthur’s lack of trying. 

It felt a little rude not to go up to the command deck and say hello, but she knew she’d see him tonight, and...well, if she was being honest, it was getting harder to ignore her body’s signals encouraging her to balance their connection.

“I’ll take care of the whole thing, Lady Maxson. Here, why don’t you write down what supplies you need.”

She took the notebook and jotted down a few items, her mind partly with Arthur’s where he stood eavesdropping pensively a level below. He sent out a wisp of a nudge, cautious, and she reached back just as carefully, glad of the distance so he wouldn’t see the growing heat in her face.

The sound of a nuclear-powered hovering unit was her only warning before a set of spiked pincers set upon her shoulders in a careful hug. 

“Codsworth! You came!”

Proctor Quinlan turned, took in the flaming swirling metallic sphere of death Codsworth had become, and promptly excused himself.

“Well of  _ course _ I did, mum. I felt simply awful about the state you were in, and I--well, I do hope you’ll forgive me for leading these chaps right to you.” Codsworth lowered his audio output furtively. “I do believe, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this, that you would have simply died had I not fetched you some proper medical services.”

“I’m not angry, Codsworth.”

“You  _ do _ seem quite agitated, mum.”

Hadassah poked her head out of Proctor Quinlan’s office. She could see Danse standing along the wall a few yards down thoroughly examining some sort of bolt. Not eavesdropping at all. Not even a little.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” Hadassah said. “I have some plans, and I need your help to get things done. I’m going to get out of here and get back to work saving Shaun.”

Codsworth whirred. “But mum, your health--?”

“It is what it is, Codsworth. Look, I know I’m delicate even with the work I’ve had done. There’s my heart thing, and my radiation sensitivity thing, and all manner of  _ things. _ But these people are never going to let me off of this ship and give me a chance unless I show them I can do it. My soulmate in particular doesn’t seem the type to want me out of his...I dunno, sphere of influence. Is that the right way to use that term?”

“Oh, that Mr. Maxson? I did meet him, you know. He and Mr. Danse were the ones I intercepted. Before the soldiers chased me off I did observe that he simply  _ doted _ on you. Have you, eh--pardon my forwardness, mum--spoken to him about these concerns of yours? I recall that we have discussed in the past your penchant for...being a woman seeking forgiveness rather than permission, as it were.”

Hadassah pursed her lips, pushing aside the box of paperwork. “But the  _ risks,  _ Codsworth. Look at all these resources he has. If I tell him about Shaun and the connections I’ve been making, what’s to stop him from saying he can take care of it all and I can just sit back and. I dunno, make his babies or whatever. I’m still not entirely sure what I’m supposed to be doing here. I’m still in some sort of limbo state where they let me wander around and do what I want as long as I’m not being too forward.”

“We-ell,” Codsworth said, sliding another box over, “perhaps you ought to make a more subtle attempt. He doesn’t need to know about Shaun or all the rest right away, but you could request permission to see the airport down below. It’s atrocious of course, but it  _ was _ the Boston International, so it’s hardly changed at all. There may be some way for you to ingratiate yourself to this Brotherhood of Steel, to show you can handle some responsibility.”

Hadassah fumed. “Ask  _ permission, _ ” she muttered. “Am I his soulmate or his dog?”

“Oh, dear. I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I?”

“No, no, you’re right, Codsworth. Maybe I could try. Just a little. I don’t like it, but no matter what I end up deciding it’s the smart choice. I could make  _ some _ effort. But only once. I’m not going to beg him over and over again to give my leash some slack.”

“Fair enough, mum. Will you be requiring your...belongings?”

The stealth suit. Hadassah’s eyes lit up. If she had that--but no, there were so many ways that could go wrong. If they got their hands on it…

“Keep it for now.”

“Very good. I should also mention that a great deal of people have been attempting to contact you unsuccessfully: the Minutemen, the Admiral, that robotics woman in Diamond City...Mayor Hancock...several times. Mr. Sturges at Sanctuary managed to reassure everyone that the most likely scenario involved signal interference. Mr. Hancock did arrive at the airport one week prior to scream profanities at the guards. They did not fire upon him.”

“Yeah, about the connectivity issues...” Hadassah wasn’t even wearing her Pip Boy at the moment. She’d left it on the bed that morning, password protected, since it essentially amounted to a heavy notepad at the moment. “It’s the giant steel hull. They’ve got antennas poking out that connect their internal network to external terminals like the one at the police station, but the best I can do right now is go outside. Which I haven’t done yet because Cade thinks I need more time to recover from the rads. I have to take a high dose of Rad-X every day; isn’t that the worst? I can’t even fit my to-do list in my brain  _ now. _ I shudder to think of adding drugs to that list.”

“Simply atrocious, mum. So now that I’m here, how can I be of assistance?”

“Hmm.” Hadassah poked her head out of the office for a second time. Danse continued to inspect the bolt. “So actually, I’m going to need you to get off the Prydwen and do some errands for me. First, I need you to run a message to Preston…”

* * *

To Hadassah’s great shock, Cade approved a fifteen-minute outdoor excursion to the forecastle, under Paladin Danse’s supervision. She was to report to Cade directly afterward for a test of her radiation absorption, in order to test her current dose of Rad-X. 

It was difficult not to bounce all the way to Arthur’s room (to swipe her Pip Boy and a snack) and back in excitement. Fifteen minutes was hardly enough time to slough off her steel cabin fever, but the thought of seeing even a scary green sky filled her shitty heart with sunshine and puppies.

Outside, she walked to the end of the forecastle and sat with her legs through two of the vertical guard rails, ignoring Danse’s soft inhalation suggesting his disapproval at this breaking of Brotherhood OSHA regulations. 

“I’m probably breaking some sort of safety rule, aren’t I?” She turned and smiled at him so that he could see she was just teasing.

Danse shook his head gently. “You are breaking several of them, in fact.”

“I’ll be safer if you come sit with me.” She patted the grating beside her.

He walked the length of the deck and sat beside her, his legs through separate bars. “So that I can catch you?”

“So that if someone gets us in trouble, the trouble is spread out between two people instead of just one.”

“Ah, of course.”

Hadassah took the snack cakes out of her pocket and began breaking off a few small pieces that she threw over the side in shallow arcs. They caught in the divots in the Prydwen’s hull, attracting the attention of several seagulls which began fighting over the crumbs. So not much had changed there, then.

“This used to be illegal in my time,” Hadassah said absentmindedly. “There were problems with birds getting sick from people-food. I think it was also an effort to protect endangered species. That and they were tired of the flying rats sticking around instead of migrating like some were supposed to. You could still feed most birds, but you were supposed to only give them, like, whole grains and shit. Or dried mealworms. Which I’m sure, from the birds’ perspective, was a huge step down from cake and french fries. I know this because I got fined for feeding birds like four times.”

“That sounds like a worthy endeavor on the part of your lawmakers. It’s a pity they didn’t care as much for the people.”

Hadassah raised an eyebrow. “Really? Usually when I tell you about old laws you think they’re silly.”

Danse reached a hand out, accepted a Fancy Lads crumb, and threw it down the hull. 

“I often find myself wondering what it would have been like to walk around outside just to see things. To look at all the different animals and plants that existed back then. Laws were likely necessary to protect nature against corporations that ruined the environment in pursuit of profit. I was briefed on the local corporations before I came here, as you know. I read about the old factories here, how they polluted the water so badly that sometimes people couldn’t drink their own tap water.”

“Yeah, that did happen multiple times.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, throwing cake to an expanding audience of birds. One seagull flew in and landed on a large rivet, watching her with beady eyes.

She pointed at it and nudged Danse in the shoulder. “See that one? Sitting there watching us?”

“I do.”

“It’s an Institute spy.”

Danse blinked at her, face going blank. “If this is--”

“I’m serious. Look at it. See that red ring around its eyes, and how its feathers look a little fixed in place? Me and Codsworth took apart one of the crows that looked like that, and there was a little camera in its head. I think that must be their main method of spying on people. There’s no way they don’t already know everything you guys have down at the airport and on any of the external decks.”

Danse’s hand moved slowly to the laser pistol on his hip. The seagull’s head jerked sharply and it took off with a squawk, leaving Danse to swear under his breath.

“I had Codsworth drop one off with that Ingram lady,” Hadassah said. “Right before he left.”

Danse pulled himself upright with the safety bar, reaching down to help Hadassah up. He made his way back to the hatch, pausing to make sure Hadassah followed. 

“We need to bring this to Elder Maxson’s attention right away.”

Hadassah wasn’t quick enough to hide her frown, Danse’s sharp eyes following the downward pull of her lips.

_ “You _ can tell him.  _ I’m _ going to go look at my book room. I haven’t actually been in there, yet.”

Danse glanced away from her, and then back again, his jaw working as he visibly fought some sort of internal battle.

“Forgive me for asking, but is there a reason you don’t want to speak with your soulmate? Who has been eternally bound to you through the unknowable machinations of the universe?”

‘Your soulmate,’ he had said. Not ‘the Elder’ or even ‘Elder Maxson.’  _ Your _ soulmate, Hadassah. Don’t you want to be with  _ your soulmate? _ Quite a bit more manipulation than she would’ve expected from the Paladin. 

Or perhaps he was genuinely confused as to why she wasn’t leaping into the Elder’s arms. Hadassah had recently come to the undeniable conclusion that Cade’s “obsessed” label was appropriate for many of the Brotherhood’s soulbond groupies. They lived and breathed soulbond mythology and assumed she’d be the same. 

“Because I don’t  _ feel _ like speaking with my soulmate. What are we going to talk about? We have nothing in common.” 

Danse’s frown grew more pronounced but the look in his eyes was perturbed, not angry. 

“Well, setting aside the fact that this wouldn’t be a social visit, the Elder has spoken with you at least twice a day since you woke up. Surely you’ve had conversations with him. You like his books. You read for hours every day. That has to count for something.” 

“That doesn’t count. I like  _ most  _ books. His collection is broad and not based on any discernible interest.” 

“Well, perhaps you  _ would  _ discern some common interests if you attempted to converse with him.” He opened the hatch pointedly and Hadassah stepped inside.

“God, Danse. You sound like Ethan, always trying to help this guy get some. Dunno where the fire is. You all know it’s going to happen eventually, as soon as my confinement drives me to extremes.” 

“Ethan?” 

Hadassah waved at a passing knight on patrol. The night waved back excitedly and walked headlamp first into a metal pole. 

“Star Paladin Brandis. We’re practically bosom buddies, don’t you know?” 

Danse sighed. His favorite activity around her. “I’m not surprised. You both make an equal amount of insubordinate comments that somehow do not result in disciplinary action.” 

“We do, don’t we. Well, we’re both not the most mentally stable of people. Maybe I just can’t help it.” 

“Don’t evade the subject, Nora.” 

“ _ You _ don’t evade the subject.”

“You didn’t ask me a--” Danse stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. “Nora. Do you remember what I said at the police station?”

“When I was desperately attempting to escape? Or are you referring to one of your many life lessons imparted to me over Jenga?”

“ _ Yes. _ To the former, not the latter. I meant what I said. You ought to give Elder Maxson a chance. He’s been through--there have been many--occurrences leading up to this point in his life. In both of your lives. Don’t you both deserve the opportunity to get to know the other before jumping to rash conclusions?”

She stopped at the ladder. Danse looked down at her, face unreadable.

“Fine, you win. Look, I’ll do something nice for him this evening, all right? How’s that? Listen to you, honestly. I bet you have ratty old soulmate romance novels under your mattress. Do you gently caress the pages longing to be a damp windswept young thing cradled by their shredded cowboy hat-wearing soulmate?”

“My personal reading material is irrelevant to this conversation.”

“Sure it is, buddy.” 

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application _

_ Fr: RobCo User Arlen Glass _

_ Hello Miss Nora, _

_ I hope your week is going well. You are a smart and resourceful young woman, so even though it has been a while since everyone has heard from you, I know you must be well. I happen to know a bit about the Brotherhood of Steel from some of my ghoul contacts in the old DC ruins. As I understand it, they keep child soldiers among their ranks. Little Mordy has been back to visit once or twice and he said he’s seen children in uniform at the Airport. Of course I know you must find this as terrible as I.  _

_ When you are well, I’d like to discuss a small project of mine I’ve been working on in my spare time, when I’m not helping to construct the turrets. The wood around here isn’t very good quality, but I have had some success making scrap metal toys that are safe to play with. I’d like to set up a delivery to the Airport when you have the time. _

_ Arlen _

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application _

_ Fr: RobCo User Arlen Glass _

_ Miss haddie! Or miss nora? I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to use haha everybody calls you something different. _

_ Anyway this is mordy and not mr glass. mordecai. From the slog. Do you remember me? Anyway again I heard that the brotherhood of steel stole you and that the leader is your soulmate. I was helping the admiral and he was drinking a lot and yelling about it. Codsworth came by and said that they were helping you. So I was thinking about going to the airport and signing up. I want to help protect you if thats what theyre doing because you looked out for me and that means alot. But I can also help by running around everywhere talking to people, because im good at that and maybe its better if im not having to let someone else boss me around. Theres a bald man that talked to me in goodneighbor and he thinks im really good at going around talking to people. Anyway a third time please let me know what you think i hope you are not hurt or dead. _

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application  _

_ Fr: RobCo User Professor Scara _

_ Amazing work you’ve been doing! I heard about the hot water heater and the blanket from some of the boots that came by the Dugout! You’ve got a good, sciency head on your shoulders! As you know I’ve been working with the Minutemen on the turrets! But we should talk bigger! WAY bigger! That water testing idea to try and find the Institute through their waste water is brilliant!! _

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application _

_ Fr: Han-COCK _

_ Fisting _

_ How to fist safely _

_ How to fist safely hanging from ceiling _

_ Anal fisting _

_ Anal fisting ceiling help _

_ How do i search database _

_ How to delete message _

_ Help _

_ Hey Nora or Hadassah or whatever the heck it’s Bobby (you know, MacCready). Just wanted to thank you for the money you left with me. I was able to team up with a sort-of-friend from the Combat Zone and we cleared Med-Tek. She’s still hanging around if you want to meet her. I think you’ll get along. I was going to ask Hancock if I could borrow his terminal but when I came into his office he was passed out and this was all that was on the screen. Enjoy! _

* * *

Hadassah decided that evening in the shower to conduct a test, of sorts. So far, throughout her first days on the Prydwen, Arthur faithfully kept his promise not to touch her. In fact, he never physically approached her except to sit across from her while they ate.

Perhaps another person might have found this faithfulness heartwarming. To Hadassah, all she felt was growing anxiety. One day, eventually, he’d snap and grab her. She’d heard stories of situations like this from church elders, where soulmates tried to avoid touching one another, to save their balance for something special like a wedding, and then the tension of being so close would make one person snap. 

In the most optimal cases, things still ended on an upsetting note; what was supposed to be an extraordinary moment became corrupted, traumatic. In the worst cases...

She’d done some reading about Arthur during her recovery, and there was no  _ way _ that this waiting game was anything more than just that: a game. This man had a whole-ass pedigree in the Brotherhood of Steel, a lineage traceable to the first Maxson (also soulbound) who’d founded the whole circus. He had to have grown up catered to. Pampered. Groomed from a young age to take up his divine right.

Proctor Quinlan certainly seemed to think the sun shone out of Arthur’s ass. Maybe. The proctor could be a little passive aggressive when discussing Brotherhood leadership but that was probably just his scholarly personality. Paladin Danse was a  _ bit _ more subdued. He probably thought the moon shone out of Arthur’s ass. Either way, it was clear to read in everyone’s faces that they expected one of them to break sometime soon.

The question was, who would break first? Hadassah or Arthur? Was Arthur just waiting for a perfect moment to establish his authority over her? Maybe he’d wait until she’d gained some self-confidence before reminding her of her Place...whatever her Place was. 

Or maybe he’d wait for  _ her _ to break first and get her to the point where she begged for contact. Truly, there was no way to find out for certain how things would play out unless she took some control of the game.

She stepped out of the shower, grabbing the towel and blotting the moisture from her body as she considered herself in the mirror. It didn’t seem like her body, most days. After she’d thrown in with Huy Fucking Zao and the Chinese military, one of the first things they’d done to her were the cosmetic surgeries. Nothing drastic to her face, by any means, but they’d done some sculpting to her waist and hips, and made her breasts go up a cup size. 

Every day, she missed her smaller boobs. There wasn’t even scarring to remember them by. Her legs hadn’t escaped the scrutiny either; a small amount of muscle had been taken from her calves for the sin of being “too thick, not feminine at all.” They wouldn’t ever grow back.

Hadassah had not been aware before that moment that one’s legs could  _ be  _ feminine. The weakness she’d felt after recovery had been hand waved away as a worthy sacrifice for the cause. If her body could be used successfully to seduce an industry giant, it was all worth it.

_ Some  _ of the modifications were nice. The skeleton enhancements were handy, though ultimately unnecessary until the Wasteland steamrolled into her life, providing her with a  _ real  _ high stakes environment. And the vision surgery had been wonderful. No more contacts, and she could see better than 20/20, which helped her aim. 

It wasn’t all futuristic cyborg paradise where her guts were concerned, though. Some of the  _ other _ implants she really could’ve done without: mostly experimental things that exacerbated her weak heart, like the implant that was supposed to have protected her against environmental radiation. When she’d opened up to Cade about that one, he thought it would be better to remove it, but he didn’t have the surgical suite necessary for a safe operation.

She took hold of her long, long hair, piling it up with both hands on top of her head and letting it drop. Up, or down? Down. She hadn’t seen anyone with hair as long as hers yet. And men were supposed to like that sort of thing, weren’t they? He probably wouldn’t care that it was dry as fuck and ratty at the ends since she hadn’t had a haircut in 500 years.

The  _ tick tack tick _ of the terminal keys let her know Arthur was still working. The lights had gone dim in the Prydwen, leaving the bathroom lights and the lamp on his desk the only sources of light beyond the low emergency floor bulbs. The darkness made a perfect setup for her plan; Hadassah knew she wouldn’t have the courage to do this under the glare of fluorescent rods.

Hadassah inhaled, hung up the towel, held her breath for five seconds, flipped off the bathroom light, and left the bathroom. Just according to plan, she didn’t look in Arthur’s direction and made for the bed, sitting on top of it to braid her hair. She spent a bit longer on the braid than she normally would have and curled naked under the covers when she finished, with the top sheet pulled up over her head. The noises at the keyboard had stopped, and through the bond she felt his mind come to a screeching halt. She waited to the count of twenty before peeking out.

Arthur hadn’t moved an inch, still sitting in front of the terminal, though his hands were flat on his thighs. He stared into the terminal screen without blinking. In the eerie green light, she couldn’t tell if he was flushed or not, but he certainly looked wound up with his entire posture stiff as a young aristocrat sitting for an oil painting. Regrettably, the light also made it impossible to see if anything else was stiff. 

She watched him for what had to be two full minutes, during which time Arthur did not move and blinked exactly three times. Carefully, she maneuvered her body to face the hull and poked her head out to assure Arthur she faced away from him. When the mattress dipped down another two minutes later, she barely held back from jumping out of her skin; she hadn’t even heard him walk over.

Hadassah waited. Arthur said nothing, did nothing. He just sat. She could hear his breathing, hitched and tense, but not the desperate pant of a dog running for a hare. Across the bond, she felt an utter chaos too wild for her to parse. External control, and internal disarray. It was a pattern she predicted she’d see in him often.

“Is this okay? May I sit here?”

Inhale. Exhale. “Yeah. Go ahead...Arthur.”

He took several deep breaths of his own, and she felt the air from his lungs pass across her skin, chilling the damp places. A feeling of lust arose from the din of his mind and began to spread but she felt him struggle against it, the fabric of his flight suit complaining with leathery squeaks where he gripped it in his fists.

More waiting. And then--

“I’m glad you’re getting along with Paladin Danse. Your intel about the Institute birds was valuable to our cause.”

_ What? The Fuck? _

“...Good night, Nora.”

Arthur stood up, and her body slipped backward a bit as the mattress adjusted to his departure. His terminal and the desk lamp shut off with two separate clicks, and within thirty seconds he was stripped down and on the couch, settling in with a shaky sigh she heard from across the room.

And there it was again. That clipboard-to-head feeling.  _ Whack, whack, whack. _ Right up until he fell asleep.

* * *

_ Prydwen Internal Network _

_ Mail Terminal Maxson MX-001E _

_ Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P _

_ Soulmate Guard Report - Paladin Danse _

_ She seems to be settling in well enough, in spite of her insistence on disrespecting authority on principle. She makes sardonic comments about anything and everything. She does seem to have a soft spot for children, however - she came across a couple squires playing with chalk this morning and showed them how to make something she called a “mandala.”  _

_ She continues to perform meditations of the sort mentioned by Knight-Captain Cade and will not provide honest explanations as to why (she said at one point that meditating allows her to communicate telepathically with her army of killer robots - I made the decision not to act on this information as I believe it to be false; I mention it in this report for the sake of fidelity).  _

_ I recommend finding more ways for her to spend time with the squires, as her interactions with them appear to be both bereft of inappropriate behavior and beneficial to her mood. In response to your previous request, I have organized the acquisition of materials from the airport for the making of the “cat tree.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thankful for having such a responsive crowd to write for! Pls comment and fill my soul with validation.
> 
> Your optional comment prompts, for your perusal:
> 
> 1\. What ridiculous outfits are you headcanoning for Hadassah? I leave it open-ended because all answers are correct. Clothing headcanons positively correlate with ridiculousness and impracticality.  
> 2\. Who is more stupid and in what way: Arthur Maxson or Hadassah "The Protagonist" Sarkissian?  
> 3\. Which of the messages clogging up the Pip Boy is your favorite?  
> 4\. Whose relationship advice do you think is the best? [Secret Option: Cade's, because he refuses to give any.]  
> 5\. Should we have sent Maxson to finishing school so he would be less awkward in casual settings? Is there any hope for this lad?  
> 6\. Quit feeding ducks bread; it's real bad for them. This one is a PSA. Try frozen peas or nuts/seeds. Look up "ducks eating peas" on YouTube for a good fucking time.


	9. This elder e m p t y. YEET.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local protagonist reminisces whimsically on religion, tornadoes; local Paladin tragically waylaid by more bullshit nonsense; local Maxson boutta get some ass boi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anybody else have an aggro hair-trigger response to the phrase "gentle reminder" when used in emails? Yeah?
> 
> Holy shit this chapter is SO FUCKING LONG. Anyway. In this chapter I start to get more into the intersection between psuchology (my made-up term for the study of soulbonds) and religion. I want to show that America pre- and post-Boom is not some monoculture where everybody believes and practices the same things, so I explore how faith and spirituality comes into play where soulbonds are concerned.

Hadassah awoke bright and early (sort of) the next morning, filled with vibrant purpose and clarity. Last night had been a success on many levels but the knowledge that Arthur’s promise not to touch her had been genuine--at least for now--gave her much more to work with in terms of her grand plan. Here, finally, was that bit of control she’d been missing since Danse shoplifted her ass from the Slog.

She’d slept well last night, only waking upon Arthur’s return from Physical Training; more specifically, she’d woken to Arthur’s frustrated lust and mild shame emanating from his post-PT shower. Out of mercy she waited until he’d dressed and left again before slipping out of bed, though she knew he knew she was awake, just like last time. And that was fine if he wanted to keep playing pretend. For now. 

Today, she needed to double down on her game plan. She typed up a list in her Pip Boy, knowing damn well she'd forget all of it if it didn't get written down somewhere.

  1. Continue being nice to Arthur. Work him towards the balance, ~~control the balance~~ [really messed up!!], ~~lower his guard~~ [also messed up??], ~~get him to trust me??~~ Be a trustworthy person [difficult]
  2. Be nice to Paladin Dad, for much the same reasons
  3. Get layout of airport below pending Cade’s report on success of Rad-X dosing
  4. Dive deeper into the culture of soulmates in Brotherhood history [do peer-reviewed journals still exist or]
  5. Cat tree [VITAL]



Hadassah moved to the center of the room and did some stretches, testing the limits of her recovering body for as long as she could hold position. Her range of motion wasn’t great, but it would do for now. Certainly if she got tired during the day any number of people would throw themselves onto their hands and knees to provide her an emergency human chair. 

Underneath the uniforms and assorted hideousness, Arthur’s dresser drawers finally produced some decent outerwear--she wondered if Danse was responsible for the fashion upgrade, after her disastrous shirt-and-blanket ensemble. She pulled on some plain underwear, a dark green green t-shirt, jeans, and plimsolls, and made a note to find a proper clothing store to scavenge later. Did Codsworth still have her other clothes, or did she leave them somewhere--?

Hadassah left the room and stood next to the ladder to the lower decks. The ship was nearly bereft of human presence in spite of the late hour in the morning; aside from the lone guard outside Arthur’s room, she couldn’t see a single other person. Given Danse’s growing talent at appearing wherever she went, that had to mean some sort of scheduled drill or other. Certainly not an emergency, or surely she would have heard something.

The guard cleared her throat politely when Hadassah made for the ladder.

“Excuse me, Lady Maxson, ma’am?”

“Yeah, what.”

“Paladin Danse will be back up soon. He told me to tell you...if you woke up before he came back, uh, that it would be best to just wait for him. In Elder Maxson’s room.”

“But I have to eat. Cade will yell at me if I don’t eat. Do you want Cade to yell at me?”

The guard made to rub the side of her neck, appeared to remember she was wearing power armor halfway through the motion, and put her hand back at her side.

“I’m just going down to the mess and I’ll be right back,” Hadassah said in the most soothing tone she could muster. “You can see me go down the hallway, right? I’ll be right back.”

“Oh...okay.”

The cook delivered Hadassah her piles of soft chunks--a step up from mush!--polite yet unsmiling as usual. After she finished eating she made her way back to Arthur’s room. She read through someone’s sweep and retrieve report that he’d left on his desk and became intensely bored by the third paragraph. How could anyone _do_ this shit all day?

She went to the ladder again and peered down, ignoring the minor sounds of distress coming from the guard’s helmet.

“I’m just going to go to the flight deck and look around.”

“Oh, uh...but...Lady Maxson...”

Hadassah was down the ladder and out the door before the guard could finish her sentence. Outside, she squinted at the morning light and glanced up at the sky, happy to see a clear day for once. Just like the Prydwen’s inner decks, the flight deck was similarly bereft, with only a single vertibird still in her docking station. A pilot--the Brotherhood called them lancers, she remembered--saluted her.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Hi. Where is everybody?”

“Groundside, ma’am. Everyone does group exercises at PT time. See?”

Hadassah clutched the guard rail and leaned over until she could see the airport below. Little squares of people marched back and forth in formation. Other little squares were running around in big circles. Boring. 

“Huh. ‘Kay.”

“Ma’am?”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say welcome to the Prydwen. I was the one who picked up Paladin Danse after he found you. I’m glad you’re doing better.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks…” Hadassah squinted at the pilot’s uniform. “...Lancer-Sergeant Rico.” 

“No problem, ma’am.” 

Well, nothing else to be done outside. She went back in, returning to the upper deck where the unfortunate guard remained at her post.

“Are you going to stop me from going in Danse’s room?” 

The guard jumped a little. “Paladin Danse’s--?”

“That’s his room, right?” Hadassah pointed at the door next to Arthur’s. She figured it had to belong to Danse on account of the nameplate on the doorframe that said “Paladin Danse.” But it never hurt to check.

“I...don’t think you should…”

“Don’t worry, he won’t mind. We’re best friends.” She opened the door and let herself inside.

“...Okay. Lady Maxson, ma’am. I’ll just...be here.” 

Actually, Hadassah thought as she closed the door behind her, maybe escaping wouldn’t be so hard after all. It seemed like other than Danse and Cade, no one else around here had the balls to stop her from causing mischief. Hell, Brandis might even _help._

She looked around Danse’s room. It was small but far from unassuming. The man in person kept his private business locked up like Fort Knox, but the surface area in here was a veritable smorgasbord of personal background information. Was the baseball just a piece of memorabilia, or did he play? Why was there a broken lamp on his desk? Did he have a _dog?_ If not, was this dog bowl part of some weird kink he had? Maybe he took it to the local brothels and--

The door opened as she was reaching under the bed for a box tucked against the far side of the wall. Paladin Danse entered, damp and wearing nothing but a towel. The effect might have been titillating if not for the expression of dissatisfaction he wore often around her.

“What are you _doing_ in here, soldi--Nora?”

“I was trying to snoop, but most of this stuff is boring. Where’s the secret diary containing all your salacious secrets?” 

“We are going to talk about this egregious breach of my privacy later. Now remove yourself from the room so I can get dressed.” 

“All right, no need to get all spicy about it. Hey, why is there a red sparkly dress in that storage bin? Is it for when you do your honeypot missions?” 

_“Out.”_

He changed quickly and let her back in when he finished, though he insisted on keeping the door wide open for the purpose of decorum.

“Decorum? Is this a Puritan settlement? Will you get fired if you’re caught _alone_ with me?” She idly swiped at the surface of his desk for a gun barrel, but Danse scooted all disassembled parts out of her reach with his forearm.

“That is a possibility, as a matter of fact. A century ago, a knight was exiled from the Brotherhood after being caught in a room alone with an Elder’s soulmate.” Danse sat at his desk a good five feet away from where she sat on his bed, which was somehow acceptable where closing the door was not.

Hadassah frowned. “But...if you’re my guard, aren’t we going to be alone, like, a lot? Especially when we go out in the field, too.”

“I should mention that the knight in question was unable to provide adequate explanation for their actions. This was not a soldier assigned to guard the soulmate, therefore there was no reason to be alone with her.”

“Sounds like shenanigans were afoot.”

“Perhaps.”

“But the door stays open? Even though there are no shenanigans?”

“Affirmative.”

Hadassah groaned and flopped back on Danse’s mattress. If the door was open, that meant eavesdroppers. She’d hoped to pick Danse’s brain on some of the Brotherhood’s soulmate philosophies that might not have made their way into the archives, but eavesdroppers would mean people _knowing_ she’d shown interest, which was a fate worse than death. But maybe there was another way…

“Where’s Brandis?”

“Star Paladin Brandis was supervising the formation of a trade agreement with the Brotherhood and Bunker Hill, although the meeting should be adjourned by now. He is likely still in transit.”

Well, shit.

“Can you...give me a tour of the party deck?”

Danse looked up, magnificent brows furrowing. “The party deck?”

“Yeah. The party lounge. The one with all the bottles of alcohol and ashtrays. For cigarettes. On a hydrogen balloon.”

“I already gave you a tour of the Prydwen, Nora. And it is hardly appropriate for you to waste time on such frivolous activities.”

She snorted. “I know you drink, Danse. Brandis told me he saw you get in a bar fight in DC.”

Danse ducked his head, probably to hide the flush on his cheeks. “Well, yes, I--I didn’t say that _all_ imbibing implied--”

“I’m just giving you a hard time. Yeah, yeah, I probably shouldn’t get trashed where everyone can see. So what, I’m not allowed to act human? Can I get drunk alone in Arthur’s room? He’s got quite the little liquor collection in there. Does Arthur drink a lot? Alone in his room?”

Danse closed his eyes and held them shut for several seconds.

“Can we go see if Proctor Teagan is back? I could help him and I _love_ helping others,” Hadassah said quickly. She didn’t want to know what would happen if she ever put one too many straws on Danse’s back.

“Affirmative.”

“And then...can we go see the airport?”

“Perhaps. If you speak with Elder Maxson first.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

* * *

Meeting Proctor Teagan was everything Hadassah hoped it would be and more. Seamus Teagan had the whole old-man-hardass, seen-it-all thing going on but this facade crumbled like wet rice paper in the presence of Brandis’s loving ass swats. 

Danse steered Hadassah away from the cage after a while, leaving Teagan to bicker about propriety, manners, PT avoidance, and the sanctity of work hours while Brandis stole more cheeky kisses. Hadassah felt like her soul had been cleansed.

It was just as well. This would be the first time seeing Arthur after having paraded around his room naked, and she fully expected the exchange to be awkward.

“Elder Maxson.” Paladin Danse led the charge, stepping onto the command deck with practiced ease while Hadassah trailed behind wondering if she could get away with hiding partway behind Danse’s enormous armored torso. She could see Arthur sitting in one of the couches on the far side, surrounded by paperwork and looking frustrated. He hadn’t felt her come in, then. Noted.

“Paladin Danse.” Arthur looked up and caught Hadassah’s eye before she could glance away. He held her gaze for a second or two before he stood and turned his stare on Danse instead. He was aloof and professional like he always was in the presence of others, though she could feel the small prick of shyness he hid underneath his countenance. 

“Nora,” Arthur said. “I wasn’t expecting you. You slept well?”

She smiled. “I always sleep well when I’m a little bit cold. I can’t stand to sleep hot.”

He blinked. A point in her favor. “I see.”

He clearly expected that to be the end of it--she could hardly blame him given her past habit of brevity where he was concerned--because he gave her a sharp nod and turned to Paladin Danse, opening his mouth to speak. 

But, she _did_ have a to-do list to get through today. 

“And,” Hadassah added, “I woke up early to see if Danse would give me a tour of the airport but everyone was at the airport already.” 

To his credit, Arthur recovered immediately, adjusting his stance again so that he faced her with his body. So polite.

“Every morning we have physical training for an hour before breakfast. You’re welcome to join in, of course. Once you’re recovered.” 

_Group_ exercise? Oh, hell no. “Mmm, no thanks. I did a push-up once and I, uh, died. My heart, you know. Danse, does that mean we can go?” 

Arthur raised eyebrows at Danse. 

“She wants to see the airport, sir. I stipulated that we check in with you first since it would be the first time the Lady leaves a highly controlled space and she has been ill. I know we haven’t finalized the other members of her guard yet but if Knight-Captain Cade approves of a short groundside visit, I think it could be beneficial for her...mental stability.” 

“I’m very bored and I need environmental enrichment is what he means. I’ve been bothering him all morning and he’s fed up with it.”

Danse’s ears turned red. “Elder Maxson, with your permission, I can personally escort Lady Maxson to the airport.”

“It’ll be a training exercise. For him. So he can train in the art of following the path of destruction I leave in my wake.”

“Elder Maxson, there will be no destruction taking place, I _assure_ you.”

“Danse, you’re killing me here.”

Arthur turned his head, ostensibly to look out the window, but Hadassah caught the quirk of his lip as he turned.

“I don’t see why not if Cade approves it. Though, I would have been happy to take you down myself if you had said something. I’m afraid I don’t have much spare time today, as you can see.” The mountains of paperwork loomed in the background where he’d left them.

“Why don’t you show me next time? I’ll see you for lunch anyway, I’m sure.”

“You will.” She couldn’t read the look on his face, but she felt his apprehension coupled with something deeper and more complex. He nodded at her. “Nora.” And then at Danse. “Paladin.”

On the walk out to the vertibirds, Hadassah caught herself wondering what else she could do to tease out that sly little smile.

* * *

_[????] Internal Network_

_SRB Terminal X6-88_

_Confirm sighting on Prydwen exterior. She is being escorted by the missing unit M7-97. Relationship appears cordial as it did during her time at Cambridge Police Station. Will continue monitoring from a distance._

* * *

“It’s so humiliating to have to ask. I should just be able to go where I want.”

Danse gave her a sharp look, jerking his chin in the direction of a cluster of Initiates who’d paused in their tasks to watch her and Danse pass. _Shut the fuck up in front of the baby boots,_ his Look said. For the enlisted ranks, Hadassah realized, this was probably their first time seeing her period. The officers on the Prydwen had been treated to her incapacitated ass for the past few weeks.

Danse led her around a corner to an elevator that turned them out onto the air traffic control deck of the airport tower. Proctor Ingram stood over a gaggle of scribes in the corner, sternly lecturing them about the Prydwen’s cable grounding system.

“Be careful what you say, especially down here,” Danse said once they found an area with relative privacy. “I know it is in your nature to be blunt. At many times in our working relationship, your willingness to speak up has been a benefit. But some of the things you say here could come back to haunt you later. Not everyone is as discreet as they should be.”

“Sorry,” Hadassah mumbled.

“And as for needing permission to leave, please understand that it won’t always be like this. Nora, you’re still on medical leave. Arth--Elder Maxson just wants to make sure he knows where you are.”

Aha. “Meaning...he can’t just tell where I am through the bond? You know, as my soulmate?” 

Danse pressed his lips together tellingly. 

“So he _has_ said something.” Hadassah put her hands on her hips. “Does he think something is wrong with our bond, because he can only get my location down to a general area? What is it like with the emotions? Can he only feel certain things, or…? I don’t know for sure what it’s like on his end.” 

Danse’s face went carefully blank. 

“If there’s something you’re doing to change the bond, you need to inform Elder Maxson, Nora. This isn’t a game to him. Or the Brotherhood. I admit I’ve become rather fond of you but you shouldn’t hide things like this from your mate. It isn’t right for things to be that way between you.” 

“Oh, please. And I’m not telling _you_ anything. It’ll just go right in his ear anyway. I might as well just tell him myself.” 

“Yes, precisely. This is something you need to work out between the two of you. Hiding yourself from him, whatever it is you’re able to do, is what got you in the state in which I found you.” 

Hadassah folded her arms. “Are we really going to start our day fighting? I was looking forward to getting off the Hindenburg 2.0 for some fresh air. I promise I will eventually one day very soon sometime have a conversation in the future about bond suppression.” 

“Bond suppression…? I don’t like the sound of that.” 

“Danse let’s _goooooo._ I have some questions for you. Things about the Brotherhood and Arthur that I wasn’t able to tell from my reading.”

The paladin rubbed the back of his neck and stole a look at Ingram’s group, who were faced away and enamored with their cable discussion, which of course meant they were in fact straining to hear every word. 

“All right, come on.”

He led her to one of the burned-out fuselages on the taxiways, one mostly intact and not directly in the way of target practice.

“Here we are,” Danse said. He exited his power armor and sat down in one of the crumbling seats. “Now, what’s all this about bond suppression? And you have questions…?”

“I love your onesie, Danse. Have I told you that?” It was the black one again. God bless the Brotherhood’s fashion designer. 

“I would say thank you, but it’s clear from your demeanor and tone that you’re being inexplicably mean to me again.” 

“No way! Onesies are one-piece outfits made for infants to wear and they are adorable. Just like you. You could lose the hair condom, though.” 

Danse sighed. “It is a _power armor hood,_ and its purpose is to provide protection for the skin and to interface with the--and you’re laughing at me again.” 

“I want to ask you something.” 

“I’m listening.” 

Hadassah opened her mouth to ask the question she’d been practicing in her mind all morning, and then stopped. There’d been something else bothering her lately, and if left for too much longer she might not get a chance to ask again. No time like the present and all that.

“Did you ever...tell him? About Rhys?” 

Danse immediately tensed and straightened up in his chair. “Uh, actually, Nora, maybe we should get back to--” 

Hadassah jumped up, her hands outstretched. “No, Danse, wait. I just want to know if you told Arthur. I don’t want Rhys to get in trouble or anything. And if he’s holding it over him or something I’ll make him stop.” 

“You’re...worried about Knight Rhys?” Danse craned his neck at her, as though having a slightly different perspective on her position might reveal hidden bullshit.

“Of course I am!" Hadassah put her hands on her hips. "Rhys is a dick but I kind of like him. A little. He’s not horrible, I mean. There are worse people. I met this assassin once who--anyway, that’s more than I like anyone else here except Paladin Brandis, who I love unconditionally. You are also okay. Cade is fine but I'm a little afraid of him. I feel like if he went beast mode he could take the Institute on lone wolf style.” 

“You...have a very unique way of expressing your admiration of others.” Folding his arms, Danse looked down at her as though to say, _Well, what else?_

“So I have been told.” Hadassah sat back down slowly, hoping Danse would take the hint.

Thankfully, he did: Danse settled back down in his seat, though the coiled tightness in his shoulders remained. 

“To answer your question...yes. I felt it was important to fully disclose the extent of your relationship Knight Rhys at the police station. While I do not subscribe to the belief that soulmates should only have relations with their other, I felt that without reporting the information there was a chance it could come out in other ways. Things could become...difficult.” 

“Wow, really?” 

Danse gave her a crooked smile. “Did you expect me to lie?” 

She shrugged. “I dunno, I guess not. You’re too honest for your own good.” 

“Hardly. Honesty is the least of what Elder Maxson deserves from me.” 

“Was he...upset?” The end of her braid migrated to her mouth for the purposes of nervous chewing.

“Yes. But only for a moment. Elder Maxson isn’t the type to hold grudges.” Well, that was something.

“Ah. Thank you. For telling me. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable. I just wanted to know, so I wouldn’t say something that got anyone in trouble.” 

“I...appreciate your discretion.” What little she could offer, anyway.

“No prob, Bob.” 

Danse glanced back towards the airport terminal. If he'd have had a wristwatch, Hadassah wondered if this was the moment where he'd be exaggeratedly checking the time. “Was that all you wanted to ask me?” 

“Actually, I have some questions. About soulmate culture. And I was hoping you could answer some for me.” In an expression of supplication, she brought her palms together in a facsimile of prayer. To Danse, the God of Insider Information.

“All right, then. What do you want to know?” Where to start? Probably not on a more serious topic. Best to go in order of increasing intensity.

“So let’s start with wasteland culture as it compares to Brotherhood culture. I understand the Brotherhood of Steel is a little...maybe insular is the right word? So I’m sure there are parts of wasteland soulmate culture that differ from Brotherhood ways of thinking, and they’ll both be different from how people in my time thought.”

Danse hummed. “I’m not sure if I can adequately compare what I know to what you know without getting a read on your perspective first.”

“It’s complicated. I don’t really know what the average American thought about soulmates in my day because there wasn’t really an “average American.” People’s beliefs tended to change from group to group based on stuff like ethnicity, or religion, or even what state you lived in. But my upbringing was on the extreme end. My mom grew up in a Pentecostal church where they thought soulmates were chosen by God and if you didn’t give yourself over to your soulmate with no restrictions then you were going to hell. As for everyone else...there were pills to chemically suppress the soulbond. What I did when I was hiding from Arthur was a form of natural suppression that you can be trained to do through meditation and practice.”

Not a muscle twitched on Danse’s face. Ever polite, he probably didn’t want to react too much before he had a better idea how she felt about the subject at hand. “I see. So that thing you were doing at the Cambridge Police Station…”

“I was centering myself to help suppress the bond, yeah. Letting everything hang out like that was something only extremists did, like the particular church we went to. Even all the Pentecostal churches weren’t that way. Some of them didn’t allow pills but did allow the natural suppression. Complicated.”

“I see.” Danse looked at her askance. “Are you still religious?”

“Not really. I don’t know. I left the church when I moved away to college. By then I’d stopped taking the chemical suppressants because the church told me to. So when my bond established itself I got curious and hunted down Zao and it wasn’t until then that I learned how to…” Shit. Hadassah felt a rush of heat over her face. _Careless, careless._

Danse tilted his head like a fox listening for something soft and fuzzy tunneling beneath a blanket of snow. “Zao. Is that the name of your first soulmate? Forgive me if I’m being too forward.”

Shit. Shit. Goddammit. “I...don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ah. I apologize.”

And now Arthur would have a clue, should she go missing, since the admiral was hardly a secret to Goodneighbor, the Slog, or any of the other settlements for that matter...god _damn_ was she out of practice sneaking around.

“Is that enough information to go on?”

“It is,” Danse said. “And I can always request additional information should clarification be necessary.”

“Right.”

“Collectively, I’d say people take soulmates more seriously now versus what you described as the ‘average’ experience of your time. Certainly nothing as extreme than what you experienced at the church.” 

Danse relaxed into the airline seat, crossing his legs at the ankle. Hadassah followed suit. “No one I know would dream of taking pills to make a bond go away, even if it was only temporary. There are a lot of beliefs about the power and benefits of soulmate bonds. I’m no psuchologist; I don’t know what’s fact or fiction. All I know for sure is that the Brotherhood takes soulmates very seriously, especially where the Maxson line is concerned.”

“Yeah, I get the feeling. I mean, with all the effort all of you put into finding me, I figured this was more than a marriage of convenience.”

“Precisely. I...don’t know if someone already told you this, but Arthur’s parents died when he was fairly young. His father had a bond but his mother didn’t. They were a love pair, not soulmates. Jonathan Maxson never tried to find his soulmate, and he died at the rank of Paladin, having never been made an Elder. 

“So after that incident in particular,” Danse went on, “it was decided that Arthur would only be allowed to partner with his soulmate, which caused no end of trouble until you appeared. His bond formed immediately after birth after the fashion of all Maxsons. But when his bond failed to change people wondered if his soulmate had already died; however, he seemed certain you existed out there somewhere. It became a lifeline for him, of a sort.”

“You talked to him when he was younger? You were friends?”

“We were. Of a sort. It was more an avuncular relationship. I spoke to him occasionally and a few times we sat together in the mess. He tended to keep to himself, read a lot, get himself into trouble in the labs. Regardless, things were different once he became Elder at sixteen. He has a responsibility to avoid blatant favoritism. Where you were concerned--the few times I overheard him speaking on the topic--he said he was certain you were out there, but also...not. He described it as a feeling like...knowing someone else is with you in a dark room, but you can’t interact with them in any way. You just know they’re in there.”

Hadassah nodded. “That was when I was in cryo still. That makes sense. It feels similar when your mate is sleeping, too.”

“It must be difficult, having to feel another person like that all the time.”

“Actually, that’s a common misconception. You get used to them being there and don’t think about it after a while. Arthur was distracted because feeling me was new for him. But with me and my former mate, we weren’t really _thinking_ about how the other felt unless one of us was reaching--that means making an active connection, if it’s called something else nowadays. 

“You just start taking for granted the fact that, unless they’re suppressing you, you know their general mood and where they are. You get numb to it like any other sensation you feel all the time. What do people say--? It’s like your tongue in your mouth. You forget how it feels unless you’re thinking about it.”

Danse worried his bottom lip for a moment. “I’ve done as much research as I could on soulmates, using the Prydwen’s archives. Your characterization of bond acclimatization matches with other accounts I’ve found.”

“So tell me, then. What exactly are all of you expecting from me, here? No one would be completely straight with me, and the records only tell you so much. Is everyone waiting for me to _do_ something, or…? Like, am I supposed to just roll over and spread my thighs so he can pop a bun in the oven?”

Danse huffed. “I know Arthur. He would never force you to do anything sexually you wouldn’t want to do. He’s a good man. But I suppose yes, people are expecting that once your culture shock wears off that you’ll settle into your role. And all that implies.”

“What do people expect of me? What _is_ my role here?”

“You’ll be expected to formally join the Brotherhood, I suppose.” Danse threaded his fingers together, studying his hands as he spoke. “Children will be expected eventually. Arthur is the last direct descendent of Roger Maxson, our founder, and the genetic continuation of his soulbonding bloodline is a priority. Day to day? I suppose that would be up to what path you choose. Based on your background it would almost certainly be a Scribe role. There are three scribe Orders: sword, shield, and quill. Each focuses on a different type of technology. You’d be the best fit there.”

“Would I?” 

“You’re an engineer, aren’t you?” 

“Sure. Just an engineer. An engineer who knows how to jump safely off of a roof and clear ArcJet of synths with ruthless efficiency. We all know how to do that, us engineers.” 

Danse grimaced. “Even if you went the soldier route, you would be incredibly limited. You’d never be allowed on any actual missions. Not missions with any possibility of danger, anyway. There’s the fact that you’re a soulmate--Elder Maxson’s soulmate at that--and there’s the issue of your physical health.” 

“So you’re saying I’m stuck in the kitchen. Great. Guess my Sunday school teacher was right all along.”

She could see the anxious confusion in Danse’s face but he didn’t press the issue, likely too wary of provoking her mood now that he’d managed to get her in a position to listen for once.

“Another one. Do people date?”

Danse shook his head. “Not in a way that would likely be familiar to you. I’ve seen a few films from your time that focus on relationships, and out here in the wasteland we don’t have the luxury of affording the inordinate amount of time and care people used to put into courtship. You find someone you can get along with, perhaps raise children with, fight off raiders with, and you stick with them. There’s little space for indecision and things like...love triangles.”

Hadassah giggled. “I _knew_ you read those kinds of books.”

Danse looked down his nose at her. “I happen to be extremely well read across a variety of genres and disciplines. Why the inclusion of romance in that list amuses you, I can’t even begin to understand.”

“You’re just...you. You don’t seem to like talking about love or sex.”

“My reticence on the matter does not imply lack of experience in the area, nor does it imply repulsion,” Danse said demurely. She half expected him to brush imaginary dirt from his jumpsuit. “Some people simply prefer not to divulge their personal recreational habits where they concern sex. I would advise you not to jump so quickly to conclusions, Nora.”

“Are you telling me there’s people out there you’ve given the old--”

Danse flushed. “ _Moving on,_ I would note that in cases of more economic stability and physical security, such as what you might find in Brotherhood-controlled spaces, people do have the opportunity to seek out casual relationships. But you still have to take caution. An accidental pregnancy is another mouth to feed one day. The Brotherhood has had success in recent years prototyping an IUD based on pre-war models. Most soldiers who can have one inserted, do, though as I understand they can cause heavy menstrual bleeding.”

“Well I’ll be.” That was certainly something to think about. She hadn’t seen much of wastelanders’ sexual habits since she’d been unfrozen, aside from occasional unfortunate glimpses of back alley trysts in Goodneighbor. The concept of privacy as a whole had definitely shifted over the decades, but it wasn’t as though people rutted in the streets like animals. Even Rhys had expected her to keep her volume to a minimum.

In her time, she’d considered herself quite the sexual rebel. But now she didn’t even know what there was to rebel _against._ Sex, even in 2077, was still something of a taboo topic in many socially conservative churches. Outside the church people treated sex between soulmates as the most scandalous topic of them all. 

Both groups--the conservative churches and the secular American world--broadly viewed soulmate sex as some sort of opulent rite involving multiple simultaneous orgasms, general kinky bullshit, and, in the churches’ case, sometimes the actual presence of God. 

Then there were the people whose soulmate bonds didn’t include a compulsion to fuck. Not everybody’s soulmate bond revolved around genital satisfaction. Not that the church cared; if you were bonded, God wanted you to be together, have holy sex, and make soulmate babies.

Hadassah was beginning to wonder if the Brotherhood had a belief along similar lines. On the saner end, her and Arthur having a decent sex life would improve Arthur’s performance on the job, thereby making the Brotherhood stronger. On the less sane end, she was some low-budget fertility goddess whose sexual satisfaction would water the Brotherhood’s crops and grant them favor in battle.

Hadassah looked at Danse, taking in his composure and laid-back manner. It was not nice of her to take pleasure in how she knew Danse would react to her next inquiry, but she savored the moment all the same.

“Question,” she said. “Is Arthur a virgin?”

Danse choked on his own spit, doubling over and hacking into his fist. Glorious. She waited for the fit to end on its own, watching quietly from her seat. Danse’s head swiveled around, perhaps in desperate search for an exit to the conversation. 

“Danse, please. I’m being serious. You told me all that creepy stuff about soulmates and I’m wondering now if the Brotherhood’s been controlling his sex life because of what happened to his parents. You knew him back then, when he was younger. You _know_ something, don’t you?” 

“Well. I--” Danse put his face in his hands, running his palms down day-old stubble. “If I talk to you about this, I would prefer the conversation stay between us. This information is not classified or unknown, but it would be inappropriate of you to speak of it casually.” 

“Well it’s not like I’m going to tell Arthur that I talked about his junk with a soldier under his command. _That_ conversation would go swimmingly.” 

“...Fair point.” Danse wrung his hands. It was an amusingly quaint gesture on such a large man. “Here’s what I know. At the Capital Wasteland, I heard...things, and he told me other things in private. As far as I know, this is the public story: once he was Elder he wasn’t allowed to have any sort of physical-emotional relationship with anyone. If they even suspected him of genuine attraction to someone, that person would get a transfer.” 

Danse paused here for several seconds, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought. 

“It...happened once, actually,” Danse said cautiously. “Before he was Elder. There was another squire his age that he spent a lot of time with, and they were caught together in Arthur’s room when he was 15. As far as I know, the squire in question was sent to Appalachia and Arthur--Elder Maxson--hasn’t heard from him since.” 

Hadassah gaped at Danse, who’d given up on eye contact entirely in favor of staring into the derelict cockpit as though one of the skeletons would resurrect and save him from this conversation. “God, Danse, _why_?” 

Danse held his hands out in front of him in a helpless gesture. “By the time he was of an age to start noticing people, the Brotherhood was in a very precarious position. With the organizational instability and considering what had happened with his parents, it was considered a priority that he bond emotionally only with his soulmate.” 

He drummed his fingers restlessly on his knee. “I think some of the senior scribes thought the more desperate he was to be with this person--you--the better the side effects of the soulmate bond. So they theorized. I should note that the Brotherhood of Steel believes, officially, that maintaining soulbonds has a real, measurable impact on our safety and mission success. Some people have attempted to literally measure it. Some people take that belief to extremes.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Danse. You know, I grew up in what was essentially a cult and that’s the kind of shit they did to people. That’s not normal.” 

“I know. I just--I trust you’ll keep this between us. I’m only telling you because I think the perspective will support your relationship with Elder Maxson. And I don’t think it’s fair for you to be kept in the dark about his past, especially with everything the Brotherhood is unearthing about your own past.” 

“I will. Keep it between us, I mean. I wouldn’t-- That’s--holy shit, that’s awful. It--well, it does put things in perspective, at least. But, _shit._ ”

“I’m sorry. It isn’t pleasant, I know.”

They sat in silence for a good twenty minutes, each lost in their own respective thoughts. Arthur reached for Hadassah in the interim, his worry coming through clearly over the bond as well as his relief at finding her near and at rest.

“It’s lunchtime, I think,” Danse said, standing quickly.

So it was.

* * *

_RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian_

_Personal Messaging Application_

_Fr: Mr. Deeks is supportive of your Mr. Handy-loving lifestyle_

_hey, how’s my caravan buddy? Gotta admit you know how to make an entrance. The Commonwealth sure as hell wasn’t ready for you. Anyway, I know you’re super busy with your new sugar daddy, but a little irradiated water-bird told me you’re looking for a way into the Institute. If you can unclip your leash for a minute or two, I’ll find you. Hope to see you soon..._

* * *

Arthur met her in his room for lunch just as he’d done the day before. This time, he seemed much more relaxed, allowing her to pull out her own chair and pour her own drink. Yesterday he’d made her a bit uncomfortable with all his fussing and she’d wondered if that had been his way of demonstrating control over her. 

Today, feeling more charitable towards him after talking with Danse, she reasoned it had likely been nerves and uncertainty: the same uncertainty she felt whenever she was around him. One tended to default to training and convention under stress, after all.

He asked the usual questions about her day, with a special interest in her thoughts about the airport. Hadassah responded absent-mindedly, her attention being on her Pip Boy and the unsettling message she’d received outside. 

The first unlisted message, the one that pinged her on the deck with Danse, hadn’t been worth her notice; she figured some upstanding hacker out there had filched her number and decided to enact some truly pitiful trolling; this second message, sent by another source as she’d blocked the other, read similarly enough to the first that it had to be the same person, which meant there was someone out there skilled with tech who knew enough about her identity to correctly extrapolate her goals. And it sounded like they knew about Zao (‘the little irradiated water-bird’ comment probably alluded to him?) which--

“Nora?”

“Oh. Yes?”

“I was asking if Paladin Danse took you on a tour of the barracks. Some of the soldiers there have been playing that game with the blocks you brought to Gladius. They’ve been obsessed.”

“Oh, Jenga. Yeah, Haylen said it was getting big. Makes sense. It’s simple, cheap to make, fun.”

“Do you like competitive games?”

“Sometimes. Depends on the game. I’m not a fan of anything where I have to think too far ahead. I like to stay in the moment.”

“I can see that. I mean--I understand your preference for more short-term strategy. I’m not trying to imply that--”

Hadassah began zoning out, her mind drifting away from the conversation at hand whether she wanted it to or not. Anyway. This anonymous creeper. Based on the consistency of syntax and diction, the person sending the creepy messages had to be one individual, even though the username kept changing. It _sounded_ like this mystery person knew about Zao, which completely freaked her out on another level. Logically, she knew Zao was no one’s secret, not even his own. 

“--can sometimes even be valuable in a situation calling for an immediate response, which--”

He’d spent decades making contact with local settlers in exchange for services and she hadn’t exactly been careful in her comings and goings to the submarine after the initial descent. Lots of people knew about him. He was practically a local boogeyman used to scare children into early bedtimes in settlements along the coast.

“--course I would never ask you to be responsible for--”

Regardless, the message set her nerves on fire in new and exciting ways. The prospect of leaving the Prydwen, while still attractive, continued to lose its luster the longer she stayed. She’d grown attached to many of the people here--Danse, Cade, even Quinlan--and Arthur himself had become a reason to stay rather than a reason to run. 

“--handle the day-to-day, while someone in my position is more concerned with big picture--”

True, she wasn’t enamored with the Brotherhood’s opinions of her destiny, but as a pre-war relic made of glass and paper she was hard-pressed to do _worse_ than the Brotherhood, given her other options of dying quickly in the wasteland or dying slowly in the wasteland. With enough time, surely she’d be able to mold some minds around here.

“--only in cases where war has been formally declared, which is not to say--”

Not that any of these things changed the fact that she was still furious at having been (1) caught without permission, (2) her background snooped around in, and (3) her personal mission stolen out from under her. It was just...infinitely more complicated to cut ties and run now that she knew what she knew. Damn if she wasn’t a sucker for men with tragic backstories. 

“--read it all the way to the end? Of course you have. What am I saying? But circling back--”

She had time to think and adjust her plan, though; just the short walk down at the airport had exhausted her, and she would need an early afternoon nap in order to make it through the rest of the day. That didn’t mean there wasn’t time to get to know her soulmate first, however.

“--upset with me?”

She glanced up from the table to Arthur, who looked troubled for mysterious reasons she’d be hard-pressed to determine at the moment. Daydreaming was a hell of a drug.

“Want to go to Quinlan’s with me after lunch?”

Surprise, anticipation, affection. “Of course. Anything you want.”

* * *

Proctor Quinlan’s flattery had lessened somewhat after days of exposure to Hadassah; like a cat accustomed to visitors, he’d mellowed out into a more professional role, coming across as genuine-- albeit not remotely humble. 

Seeing Arthur and Hadassah together, unfortunately, broke through all her hard work desensitizing the man; the sight of them sent Quinlan into a frenzy resulting in Emmett hiding under the bed, three stacks of paper on the floor, and one young scribe in tears.

“It’s quite alright, Proctor Quinlan,” Arthur said, helping pick up the paper off of the floor. “I imagine you weren’t expecting a surprise visit.”

“Nevertheless, it is simply unacceptable for my station to be in such disarray.” Proctor Quinlan bent down to pick up more dropped paper, which resulted in him dropping additional paper. “My only excuse is that the terminals have been down a third time in as many days. We can’t keep them all running continually, given the issues in backup power--”

Quinlan turned to face Hadassah full-on, reaching out a hand to grasp hers firmly. Still more papers fluttered to the ground. “My _dear_ Lady Maxson, please do forgive me for undoing some of your hard work--do you know, Elder Maxson, that the Lady has been to my office of her own volition showing _quite_ the interest in civil engineering research. Something to think about, sir. For future reference. She truly does have a brilliant mind, though at times it is difficult to keep her thoughts on a single trajectory. As one might expect of a woman of her talent, she jumps from project to project.”

Arthur blinked. “Thank you, Proctor Quinlan. I will keep it in mind.”

“I’m not actually from Boston, you know,” Hadassah said. Somewhere in the middle of Quinlan’s dissertation she’d noticed a print on the wall, a crisp color photo of a single tall sunflower in a sea of shorter siblings. She stood in front of the print, staring into the deep golden yellow of the petals. Colors she hadn’t seen in nature for months now.

“Pardon, my Lady?”

“I came here to go to college, mostly because my sister and her husband lived here and I knew I’d get free rent. I lived with them up until the day the bombs fell. But before, I lived in Kansas.”

“In the Middle Wasteland?”

“If that’s referring to approximately West of the Mississippi and approximately East of the Rocky Mountains, then yes. That’s where I was from.”

Quinlan appeared in her peripheral vision, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with her, both of them now studying the flower.

“ _Helianthus_ _annuus,”_ Proctor Quinlan said. He rested a hand on his chin. “The Russian Giant sunflower. They can be ten feet tall, I read once.”

“That’s right.”

Arthur fell into line with them on Hadassah’s other shoulder. “Did you ever see one in person?”

“I did.” Hadassah reached a hand out, running a single finger down the long, green stem. “I miss it a lot. Kansas. Lived in Wichita most of my childhood. I didn’t like living there as a kid because other places always seemed so much more glamorous, but now...I wish I could go back. It’s probably all bombed to hell, though. Kansas was always a hot spot for experimental aviation and there were missile silos all over the damn place, people said.”

Arthur made a thoughtful noise. His attention curled around her like a cat. “As a boy I must have passed through the area on the way to the East Coast. I was too young to remember anything about it, I’m afraid. What do you remember the most?”

“The prairie, and the feeling like the horizon went on forever; it’s a little similar with the ocean. That feeling of bigness. But it’s not the same. I miss the smell of the dirt after a thunderstorm. And I miss the storms, a little. The whole sky was alive with energy whenever one passed over. If you were inside, and safe, they were beautiful in their own way.”

“I assume the radiation storms you encountered here are far worse,” Quinlan said confidently.

“You know? Not so much.” Hadassah said. She tapped a fingernail against the glossy paper. “I talked with some pre-war ghouls at the Slog about it. One of them was from Oklahoma. He said that the storms now were worse in some ways, but that Tornado Alley had them beat in terms of violence and unpredictability. You know what a tornado is, right?”

“A type of natural disaster caused by temperature differences in the air, if I recall correctly,” said Arthur. He looked prepared to accept a gold star for answering the question correctly. If Hadassah was in possession of one, she’d have put it on the end of his nose.

“Right.” She gave both men a sly grin. This was one of her favorite stories--and it was true. “I was in one, once. An EF6. Used to only go up to 5, but with the way the climate had changed so much, the weather kept getting more violent and the scale was readjusted…do you really want to hear about this?” 

“I’d like to hear more about where you come from,” Arthur said. He felt hopeful and trusting. Soft on the inside. Like an eclair in uniform. 

“Indeed. Any chance we have to get to know you better is a gift.” Quinlan. Laying it on a little thick. But the statement had its intended effect.

“All right,” Hadassah muttered. She pet Emmett, who’d slunk back out from under the bed, just so that her hands would have something to do. “Um. We were at a gas station when a big one hit. It was me and my aunt and some strangers who were in the store.” 

(Here Quinlan frantically snatched up a blank holotape, cramming it into a recording device and pressing play as quickly as he could.) 

“You could hear it coming; it was so loud, like a jet engine or five right above your head. The lights went out, probably when it hit the power lines, and everything was pitch black even though it was in the middle of the day.”

A loud conversation that had been happening in Cade’s clinic suddenly went mum. Arthur’s attention towards her became intentional, less obscure.

“We started to hear the gas station being ripped apart. I heard this noise like a scream that was probably the roof being torn apart--it had these 22-gauge metal sheets and that thing just tore them like tissue paper.”

The noises in the power armor bay slowly ground to a halt. Nearly the entire Prydwen held its breath as she spoke. She reached for Arthur to gage his reaction, and she found him singularly focused on her every word. Affection bloomed out from the middle of his wariness, like a flower.

“I looked up and the lightning struck right then. It illuminated the tornado from behind and I saw it, really saw it--just the edge; we found out later it was over a mile wide and stayed on the ground for a whole hour--it completely leveled Goddard. And it was slow, which made it more dangerous. But it was the first tornado I’d actually ever _seen_.”

“I thought tornadoes were common in that area, were they not?” Quinlan scribbled notes onto a scrap piece of paper. Outside the office, Hadassah could hear that the din from the mess hall had quieted, and even Cade had stuck his head out of the clinic to eavesdrop brazenly.

“Well yeah, but we’re all in the basement hiding from them once the sirens go off. I could always smell when one was coming. I kind of miss the smell. Clean and thick and charged with energy.” 

“You miss home.” Arthur felt wistful, warm. Secure.

“I do, and I don’t.” Emmett leaned into her palm, seeking additional cheek rubs. “They weren’t all happy memories. But I do miss lots of things about it. Kansas.”

“Would you go back now just to see, if you could? Is that important to you?”

She considered this. “Yeah. I would.”

Arthur turned again to the print, his eyes following the strong yellow and green lines of the Russian giant. In his mind swirled a mosaic fog of emotion.

* * *

That evening, Hadassah read quietly on the couch, spying on Arthur at his terminal every few minutes when she was sure he wasn’t looking. From his stern posture, she guessed not a moment went by when he wasn’t aware of her in the room. Across the bond Hadassah felt his energy, straining as though at the end of its tensile strength, but she knew now he wouldn’t make a move without her acting first.

Well, then.

“I’m going to take a shower and go to bed now,” she said. 

Arthur watched out of the corner of his eye as she set the book down; she felt his eyes on her back as she reached into the dresser for a shirt, and again all the way to the bathroom. She showered quickly and stared at herself in the mirror again for a good few minutes, going over in her head how she wanted this thing to proceed. 

She would ask him. No surprise touches and no walking over and planting herself in his lap brazenly. If he wanted to do this _properly--_ according to him, anyway--then there was no reason for her to overstep that boundary arbitrarily. 

This time, she left the bathroom with the shirt on; she’d made her point last night and there was no reason to put on the same performance twice. Just like last time, he watched her slip under the sheets unbothered, and just like last time he kept picking away at the terminal until she started to doze off. She started awake at the click of the lamp and listened to the darkness for the sound of his breathing, or the soft hiss of socks on the metal floor.

He continued to surprise her with his subtlety of motion, so surprising for a man so large: the dip of the mattress was her only warning of his proximity for a second night in a row. People often thought this aspect of the soulmate bond odd, the way the locating bit didn’t work like a GPS. 

In some ways, it was as ineffective up close as it was when people slept. If you were in the same room as your soulmate, you knew they were there but likely couldn’t pinpoint their location.. Why would you need to know which corner they were lurking in, after all? It could make hide and seek _quite_ interesting.

He didn’t speak, just breathed--manually, as though he counted the length of each inhale and exhale to exactly four seconds each.

“I want to touch you,” she said. “Can I touch you?”

Excitement, some lust, but more than anything else _determination_ set her nerves on fire, and she battled to maintain control and not just fling herself on him. Had she been like this, when she first met Zao? He hadn’t been all that outwardly affected by their balance, and she hadn’t even gotten to enjoy the immediate aftereffects people gushed about before he was suppressing on her again.

_“Yes.”_

And then there was nothing to be done but _do_ the damn thing. 

She turned over in bed and reached for the outline of his body, mind racing with anticipation. How would it feel? Everyone described it differently. People said the balance was a conflation of everything you were with everything another person was; they said it was a bunch of happy chemicals firing in your brain to encourage you to stay with your mate and reproduce; they said it was like dying and resurrecting; they said it was the presence of God. 

What everyone agreed was that no two balances were identical; her last balancing, what little she’d felt before Zao tucked himself out of her reach again, had been chaotic and almost painful, less of a balance and more of a nuclear chain reaction--they had collided like a metal bar to a mouse caught in a trap: sudden, violent, and exhilarating.

She touched Arthur’s chest--bare; what a flirt--and registered his sharp inhalation before a feeling of total calm encompassed her, so deep and bottomless that her initial reaction was fear. Zao had been all fire and desperation but as her connection with Arthur set in place there was only the feeling of intense serenity. 

Arthur’s bond was blankets on a snowy winter evening, full of contentment and so completely trusting she wanted to take off and run as much as she wanted to drown herself in the sensation. 

And wasn’t that sad, that contentment frightened her, a person who had seldom felt truly safe or at ease? When the initial rush faded, any remaining suspicion she had of him drifted away; she felt his wariness dissipate into calm as well. 

As though on autopilot, she climbed into his lap shaking with the effort of keeping her shit together; they held one another tightly, entwining as much as they physically could to match the way the bond twisted in on itself, settling.

Stillness filled the room. Hadassah pulled back a bit to run her hands over what she could reach, curious now that the insurmountable obstacle was gone; she ran her fingers through his chest hair and pressed her lips to the skin over his heart. He shivered and rested his hands weightlessly on the top of her hips.

Lost in the sensations and the darkness, she put the palm of her hand where her mouth had been and ran it slowly down the length of his torso. Arthur caught her wrist once she passed his waist, bringing her hand up to his face and leaving a kiss of his own across her lifeline. 

She took hold of his face. He anticipated her intention and met her halfway, both of them fumbling in the low light for a moment before finding the perfect place where their lips could meet in the middle. 

Arthur was good at kissing for someone so avoidant of her nudity, Hadassah noted. This wasn’t something he learned out of a book, this was _experience._ The perfect amount of motion and pressure, not too much tongue, a gentle supportive hand at the back of the neck. 

She relaxed the full length of her body against him, a humming sigh escaping her mouth as she went. At the sound, Arthur pulled away, panting slightly. Hadassah waited, but some part of the spell had broken for him. She felt the anxiety welling up in him again and took action before it could overtake whatever demons he battled with.

“It’s late, Arthur.”

“Yes.”

“We should sleep now.”

“I--yes.”

She lifted off of his lap. When he moved as though to leave for the couch again she caught his hand; he halted immediately.

“Stay here. Just to sleep. It’s cold.”

At last, a bit of humor. “You wouldn’t be so cold if you slept with real clothes on.”

She smiled. “True.”

He curled up behind her, pressing his face between her shoulder blades and falling asleep like that within minutes.

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mail Terminal Maxson MX-001E_

_Fr: Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR_

_To: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_The reports from my scribes on the Institute birds were quite illuminating. We had never suspected the Institute of harboring such advanced spying technology; in fact, the cameras and data transmission software appears more advanced than comparable pre-war technology, suggesting the Institute has the resources and manpower to support developing technology and not to merely copy or restore it._

_I would like to add that, given the quality of the report and subsequent personal debrief by Hadassah, she should be encouraged toward a field scribe role. I am aware that such a vulnerable position is not traditional for an Elder’s soulmate, but it seems a shame to waste her talents exclusively indoors. Escorted excursions ought to be considered, at the_ _very_ _least._

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Scribe Haylen’s Workstation HN-118FS_

_Priority: Encrypted_

_To: Knight Rhys RS-104K_

_He’s trying to get Nora out into the field, Rhys. And he was pretending like it was because of her skills but Adam told me Nora was in Q’s office for two whole hours telling him about this supposed trove of Grognak merch that only_ _she_ _remembers the location of. Hmmmmmmm. Really makes you think._

_Also the Elder totally knows. What you did. Oooooooooooo!!_

_PS please make better choices on Ayyám-i-Há presents for me this year. If you get me another pair of mismatched shoes I WILL descend on you with all the power of an angry brahmin._

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Archive Terminal Maxson MX-001E_

_Search history…_

_[soulmate book]_

_[guide to soulmate bond]_

_[soulmates in brotherhood history]_

_[soulbondage]_

_[page 167]_

_[delete history]_

* * *

_[redacted] Internal Network_

_User baldisbeautiful_

_Fr: Rear Admiral Hui Zao_

_I agree with your organization’s proposition of temporary alliance. Our goals align, at least for a time. I want her off of that ship at any cost, and she can be of endless use to you because of the boy. We are certain the Institute has him, and she has a vested interest in finding him._

_I have doubts as to her motherly qualities, but the child provides some motivation--though you may find the death of her sister and brother-in-law to be significantly more motivating. She never showed much interest in the child before he was taken._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S p e c i a l touches. Tell your friends.
> 
> As usual, optional comment prompts for your browsing pleasure:
> 
> 1\. Thoughts on Arthur’s Tragic Background™?
> 
> 2\. How many drinks does Danse deserve for the things I put him through in this chapter? Tell me your favorite thing he Went Through, and what drink you’re buying for him.
> 
> 3\. They did the Special Touch. Did it go down like you thought it would?
> 
> 4\. What is Hadassah wearing tomorrow? Stupid answers only.
> 
> 5\. As part of my continuing efforts to remind people the Wasteland is not a monoculture (and flesh out my exploration of religion/soulmate culture), I name drop a few other religions here and there as asides. So far I have: Baháʼí, Muslim, and Jewish. The Baháʼí name drop happens in this chapter, with Haylen’s communique. The religions I've name dropped so far were chosen because I consulted with friends on appropriate inclusion. The religion Hadassah has the most experience with is Pentecostalism, which is a breed of Evangelical Apostolic Christianity. 
> 
> If you practice a certain faith and would like your religion name/tradition/ritual dropped in a future chapter, let me know the religion and a few possible options for the reference. The context from you is important so that I do not represent your religion like an ignorant dip. You may also wish to inform me if your religion is the victim of broadly known stereotypes and how. That way I learn something AND I don’t represent your religion like an ignorant dip. This story is done, as I’ve stated before, but as Husband-Beta and I go through the editing process, something like this is an easy and fun addition.
> 
> If you want to go more in depth on the explanation/context or look at a wall of memes interspersed with bouts of terrible world news then my tumblr main is [heynattyice](https://heynattyice.tumblr.com/). My horny/fandom updates side blog is [guiltyfandomtrashwonderland](https://guiltyfandomtrashwonderland.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Self Plug: And you know what else? I'm writing a god damn Top Gun omegaverse fanfiction. Yeah. Bet you didn't see that coming, did you? I started it 2.5 weeks ago and I'm 22 chapters balls deep in this sumbitch. Pirate Top Gun on 123Movies and watch it and then read my god damn Top Gun omegaverse fanfiction when shit drops. For reasons that I have I am not including knotting or mpreg. While it contains hott sexx, this work is largely devoid of the kinky aspect most omegaverse works lean on (hence: no knotting, no mpreg, etc.). Rather, it is an earnest examination of the harmful impact that gender prejudice has on everyone. And I have chosen......Top Gun omegaverse as the lens through which we are exploring this very serious topic.


	10. We do have a couple mutfruit whores in this community

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local protagonist kills innocent rat, discovers official BoS guide to fucking; local paladin’s sex life scientifically confirmed by leading dong specialists; local Maxson puts pussy on plate, eats with Gucci spoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many relationships in this story that it’s hard to pin down which are important. I want all relationship tags to be meaningful so that this isn’t one of those stories that tags everyone who so much as sneezes. I think I’ve pared it down to the major players up through the end. It's tough when there's a giant story and a particular character doesn't show up for a while, but when they show up they SHOW UP.
> 
> This chapter is long as fuck and you are all saints for tolerating this.

The next morning, Arthur’s mood was worse than it had been in all the time Hadassah had been connected to him. She drew the covers up to her chin when he rose up off of the mattress, hoping to avoid whatever storm he decided to blow her way now that most of the chips were down. He slipped into the bathroom without a single word in her direction.

Then the rush of lust and satisfaction hit her. She giggled, thinking about Arthur standing there wet and frustrated in the shower, frantically jerking off in lieu of just pounding her like he clearly wanted to. He was either the world’s most repressed virgin or this plan of his to win her over first was do or die.

She wanted to laugh, but the talk she’d had with Danse painted Arthur’s behavior in an unsettling light. She’d thought Arthur hesitant out of inexperience or as a form of manipulation; it was far more likely that the constant uncertainty in his life made him reluctant to form a connection until he thought she was a sure thing. And apparently sex factored into that equation. Given the ending of his last relationship, it wasn’t surprising he approached physical intimacy with caution.

While she waited for Arthur to finish his business and leave, Hadassah centered herself for the first time in weeks. The permanent changes to the bond were much more obvious to her now that she was calm and in daylight; before, they’d been like two people in a giant mansion: aware of one another’s presence and able to seek the other out, but fundamentally separate. 

Now, it was like they occupied the same room--everything was much more clear, and reaching out took significantly less concentration and afforded more nuance. It was similar to how things had been with her and Zao at the very end, before the bombs came and ruined anything; though they’d rarely got along, her and Zao had been connected long enough that reading one another’s moods was simple as opening a book. The idea of giving that sort of access to Arthur terrified her.

But they’d balanced now, and that was that. From now on she’d have to work twice as hard to make sure Arthur wasn’t getting more than she wanted to give. He reached for her the moment he left the bedroom, evidently pleased at how much easier it was now to get a read on her.

She had her work cut out for her today.

* * *

First thing, Proctor Quinlan set her to work manually editing metadata in the civil architecture archives, a grueling task Hadassah would not wish on her worst enemy. Apparently some scribe had half-assed the entries on bridges and the records needed updating before they could properly merge with the Citadel’s system.

Fortunately, it was the type of thing where she could multitask, and so Hadassah kept a separate window open to continue her personal research project while Haylen, Quinlan, and some other scribe toiled away on their own terminals. 

The Brotherhood computers were quite different from the machines of her time: more sleek, flatter screens, and colors beyond black and green. The processing power was far greater than what she was used to. Hell, finding out about the whole windows and tabs thing had blown her mind. Multiple screens all at once, that she could switch around practically at will? Astonishing. Not only that, but she also had her pick of navigation styles. There was a mouse if she wanted that, or she could jab at the screen with her fingers for a more toddler-inspired method of discovery.

When Hadassah asked, Haylen was nice enough to point out the relevant databases where the soulmate paraphernalia could be found. The results were easy enough to sort through. Someone had spent significant time making a functional tag search function; the search term “soulmate” had been immensely fruitful. 

She’d managed to corroborate most of what Danse had told her about soulmates through old archived journal entries and thought it was about time to get more specific. What she really wanted to find was a manual of some sort, if such a thing existed. If soulmates were so important to the Brotherhood and its important families, then surely there was some sort of to-do list or reference guide beyond the research papers and personal anecdotes she’d found so far.

_ Search query… _

_ [soulmate guide] _

Whoa.  _ Way _ too many results. How to refine...?

_ [soulmate guide -journal] _

There we go. Not that diaries weren’t fascinating, but Hadassah was rather more interested in an academic tome. This first option looked promising.

What she found after pressing the enter key was...enlightening. And so very graphic in detail. Staring back at her through the screen--and practically inviting a Sunday School teacher to walk by and look over her shoulder--was a couple entwined in rapturous sexual bliss. They adorned the coverpage of what appeared to be a  _ very _ interesting digital guide to soulmate sex. 

“ _ What _ are you looking at?” Giggled Haylen from the corner. Of  _ course _ she had a perfect sightline to the terminal.

Hadassah considered being embarrassed and decided against it. It was done. There was no way back. Only forward. To obstinance! To nonchalance!

“A raunchy guide to getting laid with your soulmate, I guess. Because apparently soulmates require a guide to bone. Or maybe this is the secret woo-woo spiritual shit. All the special tricks. Bet after I read this I can summon the spring rains just by rubbing one out.”

“Incredible.” Haylen clasped her hands in rapturous prayer. “Do a hurricane next.”

“Now what is that you’ve found?” Proctor Quinlan, who sensed anxiety like a shark smelled blood, scuttled over to the terminal and squinted at the screen. He took in the cover with his usual stoicism.

“Ah, yes,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “The guide to pleasurable intercourse between soulmates. It is one of our oldest and most important texts. For soulmates whose bond emphasizes sexuality, the gratification of both partners is key to obtaining the highest level of  _ external _ benefits. I’m sure you’re aware of the Brotherhood’s beliefs on soulbonds strengthening the cooperative ties of those around them. You’ve been doing research to that effect, I hear.”

“Uh...a little?” Hadassah was mostly aware of the lengths she would go to ensure Proctor Quinlan never used the word “pleasurable” ever again.

“This guide was created by one of our founders and is studied by every soulbound member, especially high ranking members whose bonds have the potential to impact the whole.”

“Ah,” Hadassah said gravely. She tapped the screen to advance a few pages, certain if she did so that it would land on something less embarrassing than what was happening on the cover. It was not. She tapped again. Oh god, it kept getting worse.

In the corner, Haylen shoved a fist in her own mouth in vain attempt to hold in additional giggles. Hadassah flipped her off with a hand under the desk, which only served to worsen the giggles.

“I can see you have once again been struck silent with academic fascination. I, too, admire a work that can stand the test of time. I’ll leave you to it.” Quinlan shuffled away to his terminal on the far side of the office, leaving Hadassah to stare blankly at the screen in horrified shock. For the next five straight minutes she tapped her way through page after page, the progression of weirdness and specificity rendering her awestruck. The human body was capable of such  _ interesting _ things.

But wait. As a bonafide high ranking soulbound member,  _ Arthur _ had read this fuck book. He had  _ read _ this  _ fuck book _ and probably knew more weird kinky shit than she ever would. Had he  _ tried _ things in here? Had he tested them out on someone in anticipation for her arrival? Had the Brotherhood sent him on a fully funded research trip to some brothel somewhere, armed with ropes and suspension harnesses and...was that canned bread?

She went back to the beginning of the fuck book to find the introduction, which contained a letter written by the author. He spent three entire paragraphs talking about how much he loved eating his wife out, and an additional six on how he thought she was the finest creature god had ever put upon this or any other earth. The entire affair had a very James-Joyce-private-letters sort of vibe.

Hadassah shook her head in wonder, found the table of contents, and tapped on a random chapter. The terminal took her to a page with a full color sketch of some people sixty-nineing while suspended by ropes from the ceiling. What the actual hell were these people on? Haylen began gasping for air.

_ “Oh fuck you,”  _ Hadassah whispered.  _ “You’re all a bunch of repressed weirdos, you know that right?” _

_ “Don’t look at me, I just got here three years ago,” _ Haylen whispered back. She pointed at Quinlan.  _ “Thirty caps says he’s read it.” _

_ “I am not thinking about that and I’m disappointed in you for forcing me to imagine it.” _ Hadassah huffed and made a show of turning back around in her chair.

You know what? Sixty-nineing wasn’t even that kinky, honestly. Even--even suspended from the ceiling. Yeah. Pretty vanilla sex for anyone willing to go beyond partially-clothed missionary, right? This was still all in the  _ realm _ of normal. And look, the sketches even came with instructions on how to perform the acts safely. 

Damn. The author must have been an engineer of some sort, because they even included a suggested angle of penetration down to the tenth of a degree and a recommended warmup before the ropes came out--and wow okay, the  _ warmup  _ proposed sixty-nineing standing up, with one person taking the entire weight of the other person in the process. Did Arthur have that kind of stamina? Could he hold her upside down like that for long enough?

“I dunno, did you ask him?”

_ “Go away. _ You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Stop muttering like a crazy person, then.  _ Lady _ Maxson.”

_ “Stop.” _

She must have been a bit more affected by the book than she wanted to admit, because she felt Arthur tap-tapping in her mind--no doubt in response to the random spike in horniness she’d been experiencing for the past five minutes. Well, he could mind his own goddamn business.

She clicked through a few more pages. Now  _ here  _ was some weird stuff. Some of these positions didn’t look physically possible.  _ This _ position required some sort of complex hardware setup in the ceiling. And  _ that _ position required three...no, four people total. Wait, wouldn’t the Brotherhood have some sort of religiously strict rule about soulmate sex being one on one? Oh, okay, so the footnote here explained it: the extra people were merely props, and...ah, yes. It was all becoming clear. 

No. No, it wasn’t.

Jesus Christ, where was she supposed to get a strap-on in the middle of a nuclear wasteland? Or anal beads? Or a flogger--well, she could just have a tanner work some magic with a brahmin hide. But the double-ended dildoes? Where in god’s name were those? Just lying around? Being used as a blunt instrument by a roided-up raider? 

This book was doling out some pretty serious asks in a world where all resources were precious. Slinging this much body fluid around wasn’t going to conserve the slightest bit of water. Pussy juice had to be at  _ least _ 95% water. And the cunnilingus, my  _ god _ the cunnilingus. Hadassah had no idea there were  _ so many ways _ to get one’s pussy feasted upon, and she considered herself quite the modern woman.

“Nora, it’s time for lunch. Elder Maxson is waiting for you.” Danse’s head appeared from behind the terminal, causing Hadassah to shriek and fall out of the chair. Haylen collapsed onto the floor laughing. Danse glanced between the two women, visibly confused as he helped Hadassah back up again.

“Nothing, no, don’t ask,” she said, following Danse out of the office. Fine. That was fine. Screw Haylen. Hadassah didn’t need to read the rest of that book on the terminal anyway.

She’d downloaded a copy onto her Pip Boy the moment she opened the file.

* * *

After lunch, Hadassah began scheming on how to get down groundside again. Target practice felt like a suitable excuse. Now that she had Gun back from Teagan, it was time for Hadassah to brush up on her skills and make sure the bastard hadn’t done anything to it that couldn’t be undone later. Danse protested strongly against this at first, citing Cade’s insistence that Hadassah keep her excitement to a minimum. Fortunately for her, Arthur overheard them arguing and settled the score in Hadassah’s favor, openly interested to see her skills for himself.

“After all, Paladin, not all of us have been fortunate enough to witness the skills you praised so highly in the field.”

So that was that. They headed down to the airport in a vertibird together, Hadassah wiggling against her harness in excitement: a dog on a car ride with her divorced owners. Well, not divorced yet. Maybe estranged? Hadassah looked back and forth between Danse and Arthur: Danse looked bored, which meant he was agitated and trying not to show it, while Arthur looked imperious, which meant he was trying to hide how excited he was about something. So maybe they were...taking some time apart, as a couple.

Knights and initiates littered the training grounds; most were immersed in weapons training, though they parted with salutes as the three made their way to the easternmost shooting range. A shiver passed through Hadassah’s body, though she was unsure if what she felt was excitement or anxiety. So far, this little edge of the Brotherhood’s territory was the farthest out she’d been since her acquisition, and she had to concentrate to keep her scan from looking too calculated. She could shoot and do a little recon at the same time.

She took aim at the farthest target, some beat-up particleboard on a stick someone had dug into the surf. Not exactly the safest placement, but with no additional instruction from her watchers, she took aim and shot. All six bullets pricked holes in the middle of the target in a circle no bigger than a cap.

Arthur made an intrigued hum. “Right on target. Not bad,” he said.  _ But can you do it again? _ Implied the lilt at the end.

Another target, another six holes in a cap-sized circle. And another, and another. By the fourth target she’d amassed a little gaggle of spectators who’d given up on pretending to ignore her for propriety’s sake. An officer came over, presumably to scold them, and similarly became caught up in the impromptu gun show.

“The antenna on that downed plane,” Danse said, pointing to a burned-out fuselage fifty meters out. Slightly more challenging, but only just. She hit it, ducking her head to hide a smile. 

Danse’s request broke the damn on the hitherto silent audience, and they began taking turns asking for more challenging (and ridiculous) targets. Someone wanted her to shoot the flame off of a match without breaking the stem. Someone else wanted her to shoot a playing card in half. By the time she ran out of bullets half an hour later, her arms were shaking a little from holding them up and Arthur had a rare smile on his face.

“I daresay your reports were a bit modest, Paladin,” Arthur said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen ballistic marksmanship this fine.”

“Energy weapons! Do a laser rifle!” Someone yelled from the back of the crowd.

Hadassah blanched. “ _ Oh _ no,” she said. “I’m awful with energy weapons.”

“You couldn’t be that bad, not after that little display,” said Arthur. “Paladin, do we have an extra rifle around?”

Hadassah made an X with her arms in front of her face. “I mean, it’s  _ really _ bad. Criminally so. I wasn’t allowed to touch them back home.”

“Oh, come now.”

“Really.”

Danse watched her closely, his eyes tracking the slightest movements on her face. “She isn’t overly fond of attention from strangers, sir. Perhaps if you want a demonstration, we might disperse the, ah…?”

Hadassah sighed in relief. Wonderful Danse. Wonderful, observant Paladin Danse. 

Arthur looked over his shoulder and blinked, clearly not expecting the sheer number of rubberneckers Hadassah’s performance had attracted.

“If you have time to stand around…” was all he needed to say before her admirers snapped out salutes and “sirs” and scurried away, though some returned to tasks suspiciously close by.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

Danse handed over his own laser rifle, helping her with minor adjustments to her form and stance. He pointed to a close target, this one only thirty yards out. Easy pickings with any rifle. She took aim and fired. 

And brutally vaporized an innocent molerat snuffling around in the dirt ten yards to the west of the target. 

“Oh, fuck,” she said. She whipped her head around at Danse, keeping the rifle pointed out at the field like she knew she was supposed to. That much she knew, at least. Danse’s face was completely blank. Arthur’s eyebrows were practically at his hairline.

“Uh, it probably just…” Danse scratched at his stubble.

“The wind?”

“No, Nora. Laser weapon shots are unaffected by things such as--never mind, you already know this. Here, try that one. The first target was a little crooked. Someone ought to fix that.”

Twenty yards. If she couldn’t make this, that would be completely humiliating. So of course she missed the shot. And the second shot. And the third. Out of twelve shots, she made only one, which hit the upper right corner of the mark and was probably just a fluke.

She lowered the rifle, turned on the safety, and handed it solemnly back to its owner. Danse considered the weapon in his hands.

“You know,” he said slowly, “at the precinct, I strongly considered gifting you this rifle, as a token of my appreciation for the way you saved Star Paladin Brandis and returned him to the fold. I find myself currently in a state of relief that I chose not to go through with it. My decision may have saved me from an early death by friendly fire.”

Arthur snorted. Hadassah kicked Danse’s armored shin. It made her toes hurt.

“That’s so  _ mean, _ ” she said, laughing despite herself. “Are you actually teasing me? I’ve never heard you tease anyone before. You’re so  _ serious _ all the time. Am I being a bad influence on you?”

Danse smiled at her. “You’re being some kind of influence on me, soldier. Nora.” 

On the way back up to the Prydwen, Hadassah scooted to the limits of the harness, mapping out the compound to sketch out on paper later for commitment to memorization. From the outer decks, she could only see so much; this view gave her a better look at the nooks and crannies hidden by the Prydwen’s massive hull. Arthur watched her, as he often did, from the corner of his eye, but if he thought her study suspicious, he said nothing.

She had other concerns beyond Arthur’s maybe-suspicions, though. She’d taken the Rad-X as Cade had prescribed, but Danse noted the thin sheen of sweat on her face and wondered aloud if she wasn’t getting radiation poisoning again; the pilot helpfully noted the presence of a large radstorm brewing up in the West, the likely culprit of any possible relapses. Cade had warned her about this very possibility, actually. 

By the time they arrived at the flight deck, she could feel a headache coming on. By the time she reached the ladder, her nausea was back. And by the time she reached Arthur’s bedroom, he had to help her out of her clothes and into bed. She fell asleep to the feel of his hand against her neck, rubbing his thumb against the top of her spine. 

* * *

_ Prydwen Internal Network _

_ Mail Terminal Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR _

_ Fr: Elder Maxson MX-001E _

_ To: Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR _

_ You make a valid point about my mate’s skills. With weaponry, at least, she is highly proficient, able to hit even moving targets with extreme accuracy. However, I am concerned about her ability to survive environmental radiation.  _

_ She was with Paladin Danse and I for no more than three quarters of an hour outside and the buildup of a radstorm twenty miles off was enough to make her bedridden for the rest of the afternoon and in need of a flushing treatment. She would be a liability to any squad traveling with her, as they would have to make her safety their number one priority at all times. _

* * *

_ Prydwen Internal Network _

_ Mail Terminal Maxson MX-001E _

_ Fr: Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR _

_ To: Elder Maxson MX-001E _

_ Forgive me my forwardness, Elder, but is it not the duty of the soulgard to prioritize an Elder soulmate’s safety? The Lady may not be tenacious enough  _ _ physically _ _ to withstand extended missions, but surely it would not be inappropriate to allow her on supervised sweep and retrieve operations when we are reasonably sure of good weather.  _

_ Our barometric pressure readers get better every day at predicting the worst storms. Not to mention, it would be highly inadvisable to take any actions which might unduly hamper the Lady’s freedom of movement. In my time working with the Lady, I have noted that she is fiercely independent and highly intelligent.  _

_ I hope I do not overstep myself when I suggest that it would not be wise to confine her against her will, at this or any other time. It is likely she will find a way out on her own if that is the case. As you are aware, our current policies forbid the forceful confinement of soulmates for any purpose beyond life-saving measures of the medical sort. The Lady’s condition continues to improve, and I am duty-bound to remind you that once she is stable she needs to be informed explicitly of her freedoms.  _

_ I should also mention that the Citadel continues to ask questions about the status of her gravidity and the usefulness of pregnancy as a “running deterrent.” This phrasing--theirs of course--neatly skirts the law against confining soulmates outright by presenting conception as a legal alternative. Somehow this is seen as palatable where traditional lock-and-key confinement is not. _

_ Of course I would never intrude on such a personal matter, but I hope you are not considering such base methods of keeping the Lady contained for the sake of duty. The Lady is very young and has plenty of years to further her skills as a full time scribe in my order before children become an organizational concern.  _

* * *

_ Prydwen Internal Network _

_ Mail Terminal Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR _

_ Fr: Elder Maxson MX-001E _

_ To: Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR _

~~_How fucking dare you_ _I know what you’re doing you manipulative old_ _She can’t even get pregnant right now because_ _I don’t even want children so_ _How dare you quote the Codex at me in such a_ _Do you honestly think I don’t know about Madison_~~ _ I appreciate your willingness to defend my mate in spite of the very, very short time that you have known her.  _

_ I am well aware of her personality, as I happen to possess an ingrained working knowledge of how she is feeling. She will not be allowed on missions for the foreseeable future. She is too delicate and  _ ~~_ I can’t go through losing _ ~~ _ her health comes before anything else, including any resentment she may develop as a result of confinement. I am prepared, as I always have been, to stand by my decisions and face the repercussions of them. The answer is no.  _ ~~_ I can’t do this again, not after _ ~~

_ I will present her with this decision when the time comes. You are not to discuss the possibility of any mission with her until that time. _

* * *

Hadassah bounced back much quicker this time, which, according to Cade, implied a direct and measurable result of following Cade’s instructions on the regular Rad-X intake. He left the bedroom with his pointy contraptions once Hadassah satisfied his health assessment, leaving her alone with Arthur. He hadn’t departed the room once all afternoon while she lay in bed quivering. A squire slipped in before the door shut, leaving two dinner trays and waving at Hadassah who flapped her hand weakly in return.

“You don’t have to do that,” Hadassah said once the squire had gone. Arthur was cutting up her meat into tiny squares. If she’d been in any better condition she would’ve laughed.

“I don’t mind,” he said, and finished mangling her steak until he was satisfied the whole thing had been safely pulverized. He set up the tray in her lap and stopped short of taking her silverware from her and feeding her himself.

Hadassah studied Arthur’s face, so earnest and concerned, and imagined him savagely rawing her from behind in a supply closet. This, helpfully, distracted her from a sudden urge to throw up on him a second time out of spite. She wasn’t a  _ baby, _ god damn it. 

Okay. She could empathize with his soulbond-fueled urge to protect her and keep her safe. It was a thing. It happened. But how did he know today wasn’t just a relapse of the  _ old  _ radiation sickness? It wasn’t automatically  _ new _ radiation sickness because she’d been feeling better a few days. He had no proof it was the storm’s fault.

“I thought today was...fine,” she said, watching his eyes for the slightest twitch. 

“The target practice? It was more than fine. You’re quite talented.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

His jaw tensed. “I’m not sure I  _ do  _ know what you mean, if you’re implying that nearly collapsing on the ground from a radstorm on the horizon counts as ‘fine.’”

She sipped at her water, fuming, basking in the shudder of anxiety coming through the bond. Arthur’s feelings, at least, weren’t trying to cover themselves up with stern countenance and steak mutilation. Feelings she could work with: if he was worried, she could  _ un _ -worry him. His reaction had none of Zao’s coldness once he’d learned all the ways to control her. He probably  _ wanted _ her to reassure him.

“You don’t know how it’s going to be when I’m back to normal. I’m still sick from before.”

Arthur began to bite his lower lip and then released it just as fast, as though he’d spent time with someone who’d scolded him relentlessly for the habit. 

“I don’t know why it matters which it is,” he said, glancing up at her from his food. “You were sick, and that means it isn’t safe for you to spend time outside. No more than fifteen minutes out on the decks, I think. At least for now.”

She stewed in her rage silently, unwilling to say more lest he heap more restrictions on. She didn’t dare approach the topic of missions, or the Institute, or Shaun. It all seemed impossibly far out of her reach now, in spite of her Pip Boy reconnecting her to the outside world. The walls were closing in, and what were her options if Arthur wouldn’t budge? 

She closed her eyes, remembering the long, thick cables anchoring the Prydwen to the Air Traffic Control tower, and how they would certainly take the weight of a human being if she could only test their safety. 

“Surely there’s something else we can discuss for now,” Arthur was saying. Hadassah focused on his hands as he ate, hoping she could find a way to convince him she wouldn’t break if he put them on her again tonight. She wanted to leave, she wanted to get fucked. Why not both?

She shrugged. “Read some interesting stuff this morning.”

He paused, his silverware hovering over his plate for a moment. Hadassah chose to ignore the look of open uncertainty crossing his face at her easy submission. This wasn’t over, he must have known, but Hadassah knew just as well that he disliked any sort of conflict with her and wouldn’t pry.

“What have you been reading?” 

“Finished all the Austen books in my little room. Glad I gave her a second chance. I found her boring the first time around, but that was because I was too young to appreciate the social commentary angle. Reread  _ Plague: 2037 _ . Was terrified by it again, will probably have nightmares about dying in a ditch with weeping sores all over my body.”

She looked up at Arthur through lowered lashes. He continued to eat, none the wiser of the sly look spreading on her face. 

“Read a bio about some military leader. Way too much purple prose for something that’s supposed to be nonfiction. Anecdotes were a bit fantastical and don’t at all match the original records for this person that I dug out of the digital archives.” 

Arthur stopped eating and glanced at her, impassive. What was with all these men in her life who thought an empty face hid the inner workings of their minds? Anyone with half a brain could read that shit like a book. 

“Doesn’t make sense to me why the author would want to deify the subject when he also went to great lengths to disparage the cults that he swears have been popping up,” she drawled. “I have my doubts that any such cults exist, and I rather think they were fabricated to give the story higher stakes. I have no doubts that this author is nursing a raging boner for his protagonist. Perhaps an academic boner, but a boner nonetheless.” 

Arthur’s ears were completely red at this point, but he hadn’t looked away from her.

“Not fond of military history?”

“Not fond of evangelical biographies.”

He sighed. “If it’s of any comfort to you, I’m quite certain its subject matter had no desire to be portrayed in that way.”

“Oh, I’ve met him in real life. He doesn’t come across as the Shoko Asahara type.”

Arthur huffed, but he seemed pleased to have amused her even at his own expense. They sat in a more comfortable silence until she finished her last spoonful of canned peas. Hadassah waited until he took a drink to add,

“Making an entire religion is going a  _ bit  _ far. They should have kept things under the table. My shrine to Brandis is small and tasteful, and I have only performed one human sacrifice in his name.”

He laughed.  _ Actually _ laughed. Hadassah felt her heart beat a little faster and knew then that she was in Big Fucking Trouble.

* * *

_ [????] Internal Network _

_ SRB Terminal X6-88 _

_ They allowed her down to the Boston International Airport for some target practice. As before, she is using the Zhu-Rong v418 Chinese pistol. Her aim with the pistol is impressive. I could have done no better myself. Energy weapons are an obvious weakness for her. An attempt to use a laser rifle ended disastrously for local wildlife, and a stray shot nearly revealed my hiding place.  _

_ She also continues to suffer from background radiation sensitivity. By the time she returned to the Prydwen’s flight deck, she needed physical support to walk. The status of her relationship with Maxson is still unknown, but I believe they have balanced their bond. Something different passes between them. _

* * *

The worst part about everything wasn’t the feeling of power being taken from her, it was her treacherous mind convincing her that everything happening was for the best. And it was the way the world seemed to mold itself around how  _ sensible _ it would be to follow everyone’s lead: don’t go outside, you’re so fragile and it’s so  _ dangerous _ out there. 

And....she  _ was _ fragile and it  _ was _ dangerous. Damn it all. 

Just assimilate into the Brotherhood, her mind said; they already want you here and would do any number of things to keep you happy. They had  _ resources _ , she kept telling herself. It made  _ sense. _ And what use was she to anyone else while sick and indecisive?

And it also felt like  _ losing  _ to give in to it all. But then what was winning? Wandering around in irradiated fallout zones trying to make friends where she could and scrounging up a network from scratch? What was the fucking  _ point? _

Hadassah threw another crumb down on the hull, surreptitiously eyeballing the arrangement of cables in order to memorize where they connected to the ATC tower. 

Being born soulbound was a curse, an idea she kept privately to herself for fear of the reactions such an admission would garner. The church would have found this idea blasphemous, for one thing. And the wastelanders would think she was crazy for resenting the opportunity to gain survival superpowers. Most of them would never know what it felt like, though, to be born without the one choice everyone ought to have the right to make: who to love.

They thought it was romantic. Poor bastards. Falling in love only led to trouble, anyway. It was a consequence she knew all too well.

* * *

After her shower that night, Hadassah left the bathroom with just a shirt on. Arthur turned his head this time to watch her climb into bed, and rather than remain on his terminal as he’d done the previous nights, he made to shut everything down. She shimmied out of the shirt when he stood up and turned his back, and as he undressed she realized she hadn’t actually seen the man naked. Or even shirtless. Not in the light, anyway.

She watched him from a slit in the covers, too proud to gawk openly. That, too, would be “losing.” He didn’t seem to be putting on a show, though, as he put away his uniform and underclothes at a normal, unhurried pace. Soft light from the desk lamp cast shadows across his body, but there was enough light to see the strong lines of his body--thick and solid, not slender like a runner but firm and round like a weightlifter. 

Arthur was a fuzzy man. She already knew this by touch alone from their previous kiss in the darkness. Hadassah had no particular opinion on body hair, especially given her own lack of choice in the matter. She wondered how long it would take for Arthur to discover her areas of hairlessness and question her on it. 

From bath times with Haylen, Hadassah figured that female people nowadays weren’t expected to remove hair. Arthur would probably find the lack of hair on her legs odd. At least they’d left her some bush. Small mercies.

His underwear stayed on, which she was grateful for. Being  _ that _ forward would be a bit presumptuous at this point since all they’d done was kiss, though she hoped it wouldn’t stay that way for long. With her nausea gone she would be up for a little fun tonight.

The light extinguished. Slowly, like a hunter approaching a wounded animal, Arthur made his way to the bed and sat down gingerly on the edge.

“How are you feeling?” He questioned, polite. Inside she could feel his lust clawing away at his caution and shivered with anticipation at the thought of him losing his control with her. She wanted to be held tightly, pressed into the mattress by his strong, firm body: immobile and yet safe. 

Uh, not her. She didn’t want that. The bond wanted it. Definitely the bond.

“Better. You can touch me again if you want,” she said, hoping he would interpret the huskiness of her voice for what it was and not the remnants of her terrible afternoon.

“All right. Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He maneuvered beneath the sheets slowly, keeping his entire body inches away from hers until the fabric encompassed his body from the neck down.

His hand reached for her once he was covered, pressing against her waist and snatching back at the feel of her bare skin.

“Are you--?”

“Yeah. Come here.”

“I shouldn’t. You weren’t well today.” His breathing grew deeper, more intense.

“I brushed my teeth. Please, Arthur. Don’t waste all that toothpaste.”

That did him in. She knew it would, just as she knew she’d have to ration out her please-es in order to maintain their maximum effect. Their mouths came together in a passionate rush, and she wrapped herself around him as best she could on her side, pressing her thighs against the skin above his waistband where she knew he could feel her warmth. 

He moaned softly into her mouth when she rubbed against him, whether from the action itself or her pleasure from across the bond Hadassah couldn’t say. All she knew was that she wanted more of this feeling. With Arthur’s lack of suppression, their bond created an echo chamber of sensations that met, ricocheted, and met again hundreds of times in a cascading effect that both aroused and frightened her. It was a place someone could lose themselves in if they weren’t careful.

Arthur didn’t roll on top of her or pull her onto his lap; rather, he was content pressing chest to chest with her, their legs tangling together in a tension of flesh leaving their hands free to explore one another’s bodies. She could feel his erection hard and heavy against her stomach, but she didn’t move her hand towards it yet. Last time, Arthur had stopped her from going that far so quickly. Tonight, she would wait and see if he made the move himself.

Unfortunately, her body had other ideas. Just as he finished kissing his way down to her collarbone, a shudder wracked her body. Not a sexy one, regrettably, but a shudder of exhaustion as the day finally caught up with her. Arthur stopped immediately; convincing him to continue was useless, she knew, as he already would have felt the  _ wrong _ ness through their connection. 

He didn’t seem frustrated, though. With impressive patience and self-control, he pulled away from her, composed himself, and ran a hand down her spine.

“You need to sleep,” he said, kiss-rough and low.

“Mmm,” she said. She wanted to argue, she really did, but her eyes wanted to close  _ so  _ very badly. And the minute they did, she was out. 

Hours later she startled awake. The room was still dim but a hint of gray dawnlight illuminated the space enough to make out the outline of objects on the far side. She curled on her side with Arthur’s face pressed between her shoulder blades the way he’d done before, his entire body rigid with the effort of staying still. 

He was hard again, pressed against the curve of her lower back. She realized, through a sleepy haze, that he’d gotten so horny he’d woken her up with it. Usually he at least had to finish first to drag her out of sleep. He must have been working himself up for some time. And he hadn’t even woken her up so she could do something about it.  _ That _ was a new experience.

When she turned her head she could see Arthur looking at her, the eerie glow from the approaching sun playing tricks with the color of his eyes. He ran a hand over her cheek, a thumb brushing over her mouth, asking.

She nodded and he kissed her, slow and tender in contrast to the tension he carried on every square inch of his frame. Entwined soon again, she allowed him to position himself over her on his elbows, her legs coming up to wrap around his waist. The sensations passing between them nearly overwhelmed her. It wasn’t clear who was feeling what; what was clear was Arthur’s lack of experience with this forceful emotional feedback loop. 

Every so often he pulled away from her and pushed his face into her neck to escape the sheer rawness of their uncontained intimacy; she could feel him calming himself down from some sort of precipice every time. She envied Arthur a little, actually, feeling this for the first time. And this was only the tip of the iceberg. 

She reached for him over the bond and wrapped her consciousness around his, free of the walls and resistance she’d put up before. Arthur let out a sound like he’d been hit and began to leave kisses all over her face and neck, dropping down to her chest and to her breasts. 

She nodded again at his questioning look and threw her head back against the pillow at the feel of his mouth closing around her nipple, his free hand working at her other breast, pinching her almost to the point of pain. He adjusted the speed and intensity before she could even think to guide him with her words, his attention on the bondspace enabling him to pick up on her reactions in real time.

One of her hands came up to clutch at his hair and she whimpered softly, trying not to let go completely even though she knew how ridiculous it would be to hide from him  _ now  _ of all times: as though he didn’t know her ecstasy, as though he couldn’t feel the heat burning between her legs as if it was his own. Hadassah was glad the darkness obscured her face.

He left her breasts with a final two kisses and made his way down her body to grip her hips tightly in his hands, looking up at her from between her legs.

“Let me?”

She turned her head away from the blue fire in his eyes. “Yes.”

He parted her with his fingers and licked, his caution and meandering tongue betraying his inexperience, but he soon found a rhythm, conducted by the grip of her hand in his hair and the grind of her pelvis against his beard. When he figured out the sucking trick, Hadassah stuffed her left hand into her mouth to stifle her cries as she came  _ hard, _ barely conscious of Arthur gasping against her thighs when the waves of her pleasure crested over him.

After what felt like a short eternity to Hadassah, she felt sticky, warm fluid hit her across the stomach and opened her eyes to see Arthur kneeling above her, stroking himself through his own orgasm with a gasp. 

“Sorry,” he panted. He stood, somewhat wobbly on his feet at first. Disappearing into the bathroom, he returned with a damp washcloth and wiped off her stomach, crawling back into bed with her after he tossed it onto the floor.

“Sorry about what?”

He held onto her tightly, still shaking a bit from the intensity of it all. Her first time with Zao had been a similar experience. With enough repeat performances she’d learned to control herself better.

“Should’ve warned you. I’ve never--like that.”

“‘That never happens,’ huh? Heard that before.”

He huffed but accepted the kiss she deposited on his forehead.

“I’m just teasing you,” Hadassah murmured into his hair. “It’s like that for everyone the first time. The feedback loop just bowls you over. It won’t be like that every time.”

Arthur considered this, and nodded slowly. “Was it good for you?”

Hadassah thought about teasing him a second time, but he sounded so earnest she decided against it. There would be plenty of time to rib him later when he wasn’t clinging to her like an emotionally compromised newborn deer.

“It was nice.” She kissed him on the forehead again to show she wasn’t being sarcastic. 

His shaking lessened until it finally stopped, and she was left with a very large and satisfied man slumped over her chest in a post-coital daze. When the lights clicked onto the daytime cycle, they both flinched at the intrusion. Hadassah felt too exposed and wiggled out of Arthur’s arms back under the top sheet. It felt meaningless given what they’d just been doing, but there was a difference between getting eaten out in the dark and cuddling naked under fluorescence. 

Arthur observed her retreat without comment. When Kells began to drone on about some daily update, Arthur went to the dresser and put on his PT uniform like he always did. The normality of it felt obscene after the moment they had just shared. 

But this time, instead of leaving right away, he returned to the bed and hovered over her, bracing a hand on either side of her chest. He kissed her again, the lingering slide of lips and tongue a promise for something more later today. This afternoon perhaps. Or maybe even before lunch. She could feel him already getting horny again.

But duty called, and so did Kells, who pinged Arthur on the radio to let him know of a situation requiring his attention in the next hour or so.

“I’ll see you later today.”

He muffled her response with another breathless kiss, but she held onto his shoulders to push him away gently. There was something she wanted to ask before anything went further. Now that he’d had her, he’d surely have expectations. That, generally, was the way of things.

“What am I supposed to do now?” She asked when he released her.

He tilted his head at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Danse said people are expecting me to join the Brotherhood, officially. Doesn’t that have to happen sooner or later?”

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Arthur said.

“Isn’t it a requirement?”

“There will be plenty of time. Don’t worry about it. No rush.”

He left her there with a parting kiss on top of her head, and then Hadassah lay alone in bed with only her racing thoughts for company.

* * *

Quinlan had a whole stack of blueprints waiting for her today, mainly bridges with a few dams thrown in for variety. Hadassah did not remark on his expectation of her arrival--her decision to poke around in his office was her own, after all; no one had scheduled for her to come here--but part of her felt a compulsion to present a token jab of some sort, just to make sure everyone knew that she hadn’t given in to routine yet.

She said nothing, of course, and began rifling through the papers, her mind wandering. 

“We thought he might be alone forever, you know,” Quinlan sighed.  


That got her attention. “Huh?”

“His insistence that you were out there and “sleeping” for years on end seemed to many a fantasy concocted by a desperately lonely boy. Wishful thinking at best, and a sign of mental instability as a result of his mate’s death at worst. We kept up with the traditions out of blind hope that his protestations were true. I suppose we ought to have believed him from the start. It would have made little sense for him to keep up the charade given the restrictions the council imposed upon him.”

‘Restrictions,’ he called them. Hadassah remembered Danse’s story, remembered that boy Arthur had been caught with as a teenager and everything that transpired after. Was Quinlan really so casual about such cruelty? Though perhaps he saw it as a necessary evil, if he too subscribed to the soulbond superstitions. 

“Now that  _ you’re  _ here, the Brotherhood can thrive again,” Quinlan continued. “And we can guide these wastelanders out of the muck and into a proper, civilized society.”

Hadassah hummed noncommittally, stunned by the proctor’s indifference. Had he ever lived among wastelanders? Spoken to them? Or had he been born into the Brotherhood, with all its opportunities and advantages? Or was his persona a facade designed to survive the ideological rat race? 

She wondered if she would ever get used to this--used to  _ them-- _ the way they talked and acted like normal people before saying things like  _ that. _ How long would it take before she was parroting them to fit in? How long before she believed it herself? It was so, so easy to treat ideas like jokes, to go along with them ironically, and then wake up to find you’d jumped right in bed with extremism.

She observed Quinlan discreetly until his work reabsorbed him, and then reached for her Pip Boy before slinking off to the forecastle.

* * *

_ RobCo User Hadassah E. Sarkissian _

_ Personal Messaging Application _

_ To: Han-COCK _

_ Hey, just missing you guys. How is everything going? Still alive up here. Do people miss me? _

* * *

Arthur was still busy with the incident from that morning to have lunch with her, so Hadassah sat down with Danse instead in a corner of the mess where no one would interrupt them. “No one” did not include Brandis, of course, who squeezed in next to Danse with somewhat more accidental shoulder bumping than was necessary. To his credit, Danse only scowled once before schooling his face into something resembling professionalism.

“So-o,” Brandis drawled. “ _ Somebody _ had breakfast in bed this morning. That does explain the pep in your boy’s step today. Have fun?”

Danse choked on his coffee, prompting a passing knight to slap him on the back several times (while apologizing should Danse accuse her of assaulting a commanding officer). Hadassah accepted Brandis’s over-the-table high five.

“Star Paladin Brandis,  _ sir, _ perhaps this is not the best time or location to discuss...any of that, ever.” He glared at Brandis, who threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug.

“Fine, fine. We can talk later, my dear.”

Hadassah smiled sheepishly at Danse, who grumbled into his mirelurk hash with no further comment. Fortunately for Brandis’s curiosity, “later” happened almost immediately. Proctor Ingram stomped into the mess to fetch Danse to look at some power armor nonsense (all power armor-related business fell into Hadassah’s “nonsense” category, along with energy weapons and other things she didn’t understand), leaving her and Brandis with a few moments of privacy.

“Well?” He demanded. 

“Had a nice time," Hadassah said, feigning coy. "Just your standard oral. He was a little, uh... _ unprepared _ for how intense the fun part can get when your bond is totally uninhibited.”

Brandis nodded genially. “Of course. Happens to everyone. No shame in that.”

“Right, right. He has a nice body. Would enjoy being pinned up against the wall by it. Maybe while he’s also angry about something. Not at me. Like, imagine him bursting into my little reading room and just railing me against a bookcase to work through some post-meeting frustration.  _ Imagine _ .”

“I will  _ not  _ imagine that--in detail, anyway--because I do have to look the Elder in the face daily, but I respect your commitment to being fucked hard in the stacks. It’s like a librarian’s secret fantasy. So quaint yet so spicy. Sometimes Seamus and I do a little librarian and naughty patron fun. You would not  _ imagine _ the punishments he doles out for late books.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea.”

Danse, who’d returned to the table halfway through Brandis’s first sentence, got back up from the table and walked back towards the maintenance room by the end of Brandis’s fourth sentence. By the fifth, Danse had retreated completely out of sight. Hadassah attempted a quelling look in Brandis’s direction but it was rather compromised by the way she had to pinch herself to keep the sniggers in.

“Oh, Ethan. You should be nicer to Danse. He’s a  _ good _ boy.”

“‘Good’ my ass. You didn’t know Mister Danse in his twenties: young, dumb, and full of...mmm, too much desperation to prove himself.”

Hadassah poked her fork accusingly in Brandis’s general direction. “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes, good sir.”

“Around your tender virgin ears it does.”

Hadassah rolled her eyes. “Brandis. I’m so confused about that guy. I’m _ninety-nine_ _percent_ sure he implied that he _may_ have had sex at least one time. But then he also blushes if someone says the word ‘pussy.’ It was me. I’m someone who said ‘pussy.’ He would probably die if I said ‘cunt.’”

Brandis smirked. “Oh, he absolutely would. And you know...I would  _ never _ gossip carelessly about a fellow soldier’s personal business. But, I can tell you--in confidence, naturally--that the resident population of working girls and boys at Rivet City were  _ devastated  _ when young Mr. Danse had to leave on extended missions. They moped for days. They are no doubt bemoaning the current loss of his contribution to the Rivet City economy.” 

Brandis propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands, feigning a doe-eyed, sappy expression. “Completely unrelated, but I  _ do _ recall a day in particular in which my Seamus and I were enjoying some  _ extra _ attention in the arms of some young fresh thing. And do you know what that young man told us?  _ Apparently, _ Mr. Danse almost  _ never _ consorted with less than two employees at a time when patronizing that oldest of earth’s professions. Twice a week, at least. A good dicking is practically his favorite hobby besides polishing imaginary stains on his armor. Cross my heart.”

No way. No  _ way.  _ Danse? Really?  _ Paladin Danse? _ But he was so... _ serious _ all the time. And he blushed every time she even referenced the hypothetical existence of his sex life! No. Way. 

Oh, god. Had  _ he _ read the fuck book? Had he taken  _ notes _ from it?

“Wha-at? No. Are you making that up?”

“You know what they say: it’s always the quiet ones.” Brandis shrugged. “Like I said before, he likes to keep things professional. Outside the org, right? Discrete, quiet, no strings attached.  _ Professional. _ Now, before I get myself in even more trouble, I can see you have a real question for me. What’s on your mind?”

Hadassah couldn’t resist looking around to check for eavesdroppers, even though she knew there was no better way to let onlookers know some juicy information was on its way.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Do you think...that the feelings soulmates have about one another are real?”

Brandis looked her in the eyes. “Real? As in, natural and not forced by the bond, you mean?”

“Yeah. I still feel”--she dipped her head and dropped her voice to a whisper--“like I really don’t want to be here. I’m still upset that he won’t let me go anywhere even though I know it’s a medical thing. But I’m really starting to like him, too. He’s interesting to talk to, and he’s kind to me, and he’s smart...but would I be feeling that way about him so quickly if he wasn’t literally bound to me? Is it real?”

“Ah, the age-old question.” Brandis folded his arms. “Had it myself when I was young.”

“What did you...well, how did you deal with that? I know you didn’t have much time with him in the end, but…” She cleared her throat. “The church told me that pretty much any positive emotion I felt toward my soulmate was literally God. The government-approved Chinese philosophy at the time was that soulmate bonds were generally good but that they could easily overwhelm a person and should be controlled with meditation, right? That was where I was at when the bombs fell. Now I don’t really know what to think. I just hate the idea that something is making me do something that I don’t want.”

Brandis leaned back against the wall, crossing his ankles as he pondered his answer.

“So, that whole  _ thing _ \--where the soulbond completely controls a person’s affection and perception--is where I think a lot of...institutionalized, shall we say, views of soulbonding go wrong. They make it into this grand, controlling force that completely transforms each person, when the reality is that soulmates have a normal relationship  _ plus  _ some extra.”

“Extra?”

“Extra. What I mean by this is that the soulbond may enhance feelings of protectiveness, desire, compassion, or whatever else, but it’s only enhancing what is  _ there _ ; it’s not making up emotions that hitch a ride in; it’s building on a foundation. So if you feel like you’re starting to like Arthur, that’s not  _ just  _ the soulbond talking, necessarily. I’m of the opinion that a lot of people attribute their feelings about their soulmate to the soulbond itself--as if the bond is the origin of feelings--when it’s just as likely that things like culture, personal history, and so on are the real origin. Just like everyone else. 

“The bond doesn’t make a slave out of you, in other words. If you’d like some advice, I say really think about what it is you’re feeling and where those feelings might come from. Sure, the bond might reward positive attention, but it isn’t “making” you do anything, really. And if it was, don’t you think you would feel that? You’d have two thoughts in your head, instead of one thought and the uncertainty around it, which is where I think you’re at.”

Hadassah folded her arms on the tabletop and rested her chin on top. Arthur paced in circles down on the command deck, irritated about something, but he sent a wisp of affection her way when she reached out. 

“Always ready with the sage advice, you are.”

“I’ve had decades to make my peace with the bond, and I don’t even have to deal with it anymore. Hindsight and all that, you know. I can only imagine what you’re going through. Now, I’m on pins and needles here about our next book club title selection. Are we going classics or pulp fiction?”

“Definitely a vampire romance this time. I need to turn my brain off.”

“Roger that.”

* * *

Some other disaster kept Arthur from dinner as well. Hadassah invited Danse into her book room to eat, having had her fill of being stared at for the day. Of course the door stayed open, but she didn’t mind. No one would have dared come inside to gawk, not with Danse and his fuck-off face waiting there. Danse reminded her strongly of a nesting swan sometimes. Outwardly serene, but if you fucked around, boy did you find out.

It was a good opportunity to catch up with Danse alone and away from Brandis’s needling, and in truth Hadassah hadn’t spent much time here beyond the few minutes she needed to select a book and take it somewhere else. The nook had been carved out from a storage closet on the command deck and sat on a landing halfway between Kells’s control room and the upper lounge. Inside there was just enough space for a couple floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a working lamp, a love seat, and a wooden chair. Danse insisted on taking the chair, of course.

“What’s the news downstairs?” Hadassah asked, referring to the airport.

“Someone’s been in the supplies,” Danse said. “There’s been repeated theft of MREs and other food rations.”

“Oh, really? How long’s it been going on?”

“Some weeks, evidently. It was noticed only two days ago by someone on the Logistics team, but a cursory examination of the supply manifests revealed a pattern. Likely an individual or a small group from the inside is involved, as the thefts tend to take place around the same time. Nothing else has been taken.”

“Huh. You’re being awfully transparent about the details. Usually it’s kind of hard to get the juicy goods from you.”

The ghost of a smile passed over Danse’s face, there and gone so quickly she almost thought she imagined it.

“Elder Maxson has put me in charge of the investigation due to the fact that previous attempts from within Logistics were unsuccessful. This incident is the reason why he was unable to take lunch with you, actually. That, and other things.”

“That’s nice. Need any help? I’m pretty good at sneaking around.”

“I was hoping you would suggest that, in fact. While it was clear that you should avoid being on the ground for extended periods of time, Cade sees no issue with you taking short, hour-long excursions provided there are no radstorms approaching. We expect the weather to be mostly clear this week, and--”

Hadassah sat her tray aside and threw her arms around Danse’s neck. After a couple seconds he patted her on the head awkwardly, which was Danse’s Everyday Normal Hug (he also had a Genuinely Nice Warm Hug but it was used only for very dire circumstances, according to Haylen).

“Glad to have you on board, soldier. Meet me tomorrow at 0700 in this room.”

“God, that’s  _ so _ early.”

“That is a full two and a half hours after I wake up. Perhaps you ought to go to bed on time and keep a regular schedule. It would be better for your health in the long run.”

“Okay,  _ dad.” _ Hadassah rolled her eyes, which would absolutely convey her trustworthiness to Danse and not work against her in any way. “But wait, why can’t we go now?”

“It’s late.”

Hadassah clasped her hands together. “Please? It’s only six. Let’s just go for an hour. Three quarters of an hour. It will help build my strength and um, environmental resiliency.” 

“Resilience. Your environmental  _ resilience. _ And I suppose...it wouldn’t hurt.” Danse tapped a finger to his chin. “But we do need to be back up to the Prydwen within an hour. That’s when the regular transports shut down.”

“Deal.”

* * *

She poked around the airport terminal with Danse, who debriefed her on the major players in this Mystery Dinner Theater of operations. She introduced herself to every person she met as “the detective’s assistant,” which did not seem to bother Danse much and amused most everyone else. 

Knight Sergeant Gavil clearly did not want Danse to be riding around in his rodeo, but Hadassah quickly won Gavil over with her standard set of man-compliments that had the sergeant flushed and sputtering at her attention. 

Man-compliments weren’t anything  _ scandalous  _ of course, but she’d found benefits to her Brotherhood Mythical Creature status with the on-ground troops; namely, the simple act of speaking kindly to a person could make them lose their fucking minds. 

Danse had given her a quelling look at first but once he was satisfied she had nothing inappropriate to say, he took advantage of her distractions shamelessly: the Knight Sergeant’s lack of attention enabled Danse to do some additional snooping he hadn’t been able to get away with earlier.

The hour passed quickly. Towards the end of it Hadassah could feel Arthur’s questioning probe and subsequent worry at her presence on the ground. She sent him her reassurance, which had little effect, and he continued to escalate until his anxiety made it difficult to concentrate. Danse responded to her suggested return to the Prydwen without question. 

On the short flight up, Danse went over the new details of the case: Gavil likely had no further helpful information; Initiate Clarke (a shifty lad) and Knight Lucia (preoccupied with Clarke’s shiftiness) were the ones to watch, though Danse hadn’t had much luck getting solid information out of either. 

After tomorrow’s trip down, Danse suggested, some rifling around in footlockers might be a productive way forward. Hadassah could handle the rifling-through because she was more likely to get away with a cute look if caught, and Danse could lecture vaguely to the Logistics team at length to buy her some time. 

“What?” Danse exclaimed in response to the look of shock on her face. “It’s sound tactics and for a good cause. I can be cunning when the situation requires it, you know. I  _ am _ more than a set of power armor with a head sticking out of it.”

It  _ was _ always the quiet ones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: James Joyce Reference: James Joyce wrote so many nasty, nasty letters to his mistress and later wife, Nora. And we just...have them available to read. They’re digitized. You can read them right now. Maybe you will. Trigger warning for...kinks that involve farts and things excreted by the human body. 
> 
> Imagine if someone downloaded every sext and nude you’ve ever sent and published them for future scholars to peruse as they analyze every facet of your life no matter how intimate.
> 
> “And you see here, in this text from [your name here], a fine example of the author’s own struggle with the self. They say “idk im kinda shy” but immediately afterward send this graphic photograph of their bootyhole. What does it mean? We will grapple with this question and many more as we further examine Texts from 2020: a Life Lived in Isolation.”
> 
> “Why has the infamous novelist [your name here] claimed that their dog sent this text? How could a dog type out “lol if you were here what would you do to me ;)” and then send it to this person specifically? There are two ways to go from here: either our beloved author intentionally sent this text--which was clearly a poor decision from the start; please reference the earlier awkward texts for my meaning; they are full of painful deflections--or our author was in possession of a magical dog.”
> 
> Ask me to and I’ll craft your own horrifyingly detached observation from the professor discussing your most shameful secrets to an auditorium of undergrads a hundred years from now.
> 
> 1\. What’s your favorite sex act from the fuck book? Made-up homebrew answers only.
> 
> 2\. Thoughts on the JUICY passive aggressive office emails between Quinlan and Arthur. Which one of them is more likely to begin a message with “per my last email” and why?
> 
> 3\. X6 is that you??? Bro????
> 
> 4\. How did Arthur’s first sex act with a vagina go? Before this he was all finding his peace within the arms of muscle boy dick (when he could get away with it) but the universe handed him Hadassah and his bisexuality crawled out from under a rock like “surprise, bitch.”
> 
> 5\. Danse fucks.


	11. I dunno I’m just fuckin. Tossin vertibirds in the river, bro.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local Maxson’s junk assessed like Maine Coon at cat show; local initiate exercises empathy, almost kills people in process; local Proctor flexes archival prowess; local Cringe Protagonist fails to follow OSHA standards for exiting giant metal blimps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People who subscribe to me as a user for this story, seeing an email update from me:  
>   
> People who subscribe to me as a user for this story, seeing an update for the fucking Top Gun omegaverse fic again:  
>   
> The Top Gun omegaverse fic:  
> 

Arthur waited for her on the flight deck. Danse, accurately sensing Arthur’s tumultuous mood, requested and was granted permission to head inside, leaving Hadassah alone to face the music. 

Ever conscious of her privacy, Arthur didn’t utter anything beyond a simple greeting when she approached; he offered his arm instead and led her inside to his--their?--room. He shut off the main lights, leaving the desk lamp on, and then he removed his outer coat, folding it and hanging it on the back of his chair. 

At least he hadn’t expected her to follow at his heels like a dog, Hadassah thought. The bar was incredibly low, but thinking about where it was reminded her that things could always be worse. The world was all gone to hell, but it could always go deeper.

“I don’t want you to run off without letting me know where you’re going first. It isn’t safe.”

Blunt and to the point. She appreciated the honesty, even if the words themselves made her bristle.

“I didn’t ‘run off.’ I was with Danse. The person you put in charge of watching me.” She walked around Arthur to his desk and swiped a few potato chips from an open bag. They were _terrible._

“Look. Arthur. I appreciate your concern,” Hadassah said through a mouthful of stale fried potato, “but you don’t need to know where I am every minute of the day. I’m not an infant and I don’t need you controlling me. If Cade says I’m okay to go out for short bits of time, then I’m content following the lead of the _medical professional_ here.”

A spike of irritation. “My intention isn’t to control you, Nora, it’s to keep you _safe_. Anything could happen to you down there. Misfire, an unexpected radstorm...any number of locals could benefit from holding you for ransom…”

“Yeah, and I could also fall off the railing and die at terminal velocity on the tarmac in full view of hundreds. Don’t you trust Danse to keep me safe, at least?”

Arthur rubbed at his face. “Of course I trust Paladin Danse, but I’d still feel more _comfortable_ if I knew where you were and what you were doing. You keep doing that...thing...where I can’t tell how far away you are.”

“And? You knew I was with Danse and somewhere around the airport, and you could feel that I was calm.”

“My point stands.”

Hadassah slumped sideways onto the couch, barely suppressing the urge to fling herself on it like a dramatic Victorian tween. Arthur sat down on the other end, balancing himself on the edge to avoid sitting on her shins. 

She found her center, not to suppress the bond this time, but to get a more thorough read on Arthur. She felt his agitation, his indignation, yes, but at the center of the maelstrom festered something far more animalistic: fear. That, at least, she felt prepared to address. 

“Arthur...you don’t need to be afraid that I’m going to get hurt.” She ran her hand along his waist, noting the responsive twinge of desire announce itself amidst his other thoughts.

“The hell I don’t,” he growled. He slid his hands up her body to grip her waist, and she allowed him to pull her into his lap. Predictably, he was already half-hard.

“I almost lost you before, when you ran from the station,” he said. “I know you aren’t helpless, I know you can handle yourself in a fight, but I also don’t think you appreciate where your own boundaries and weaknesses are. Paladin Danse noticed this as well. You throw yourself into situations where you’re in over your head and sometimes it’s only been luck that gets you through. You don’t _think;_ you just _do._ ”

He had a point, not that she’d ever admit it. She did follow her impulses, true, and it had indeed gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion. For god’s sake, she took _drugs_ from an almost-stranger right before a combat situation and almost fucking died from it. Those were not the actions of a reasonable person. Arthur wasn’t wrong there. And yet...

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to explain to him how it felt, finally: a lifetime of being controlled by one thing or another, and then...those couple months of glorious freedom, after the vault...when she had been her own master and he had been so far away and indistinct. 

In those days, anything had been possible, anything could have happened: branching pathways spiraled out in infinite fractals based on her decisions alone. She wanted to tell him that her only alternative to the impulsiveness was to lose herself in a death spiral of speculation and doubt. She acted rashly or not at all. It had always been that way for her. 

But maybe he didn’t want all that background. Maybe he’d been waiting his whole life for stability. Stability he hoped she could offer to his life.

The zipper at the top of his flight suit jangled in time with her tapping fingernail. _Tap, tap, tap._ She ran a finger across his Adam’s apple and pressed down against the soft skin in the dip of his clavicle. He glared up at her, clued into her game, and annoyed about it, but too aroused to make her stop. 

“I’m not asking to go to Salem or anything; it’s just the airport. And I’m helping Danse with the investigation. We got a couple leads within half an hour of poking around. I’m too valuable a resource to just leave lying around in a case. I have training; it’s not like I’m some civilian playing with things I don’t understand. I am intelligent and capable.”

“Funny. In the past you were quite adamant of the opposite.”

“That was when I thought you were going to draft me and put me to work. I take on what narrative suits my goal. That is where my skills lie.”

“I’ve noticed,” Arthur said drily. He sighed and broke eye contact with her. “I...suppose it would be unnecessary for you to check in while moving around within Brotherhood territory. And if you had the Paladin with you…”

“Mm-hmm.” She pulled the zipper down and slipped a hand up inside his shirt, feeling his breath catch as she moved north.

The glare returned, less fiery and more cloudy with lust. “You aren’t just trying to seduce your way into everything you want, are you?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

“You’re impossible,” he sighed. But she could sense dogged affection there underneath the exasperation.

She slid down his body and came to a stop with her shins pressed against the smooth metal of the floor, leaving her eye-level with his pelvis. There weren’t too many ways to interpret a position like this, but he made no protestations, scooting to the edge of the couch obediently at her light tug on his knees. 

Arthur began peeling his flight suit off of his body but came to an abrupt halt when Hadassah went with the quicker method of undoing the crotch flap. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, but partially clothed sex could be its own fun, little reward.

She pulled out his erection carefully, taking the opportunity to examine him in the weird shadows that the lamp made. He looked just above average in length and thickness, uncut, and there was a cute little freckle on the underside of the head. A very serviceable penis.

She imagined herself in a lab coat with a clipboard, taking notes on his cock like a judge at a cat show: _“Looks fairly on par with the breed standard, all things considered. Pubic hair is groomed. Respectable stats. But how does it perform? Can it jump through hoops?”_

Biting the inside of her cheek to stop the giggles, Hadassah began playing with the foreskin a little, reaching for Arthur over the bond to get a better sense of what he liked. He wasn’t vocal--at least not yet--but he’d already leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes at the feel of her fingers playing gently in and around the head. 

She took some more time to explore his cock before going in for the kill. Uncircumcised penises had a charming look about them, like they were asleep and poking their heads out from a little sweater made of skin. Zao had thought she’d lost her fucking mind after she once tried explaining this to him. 

Well, showed what _he_ knew. Uncircumcised dicks were so much _fun._ The head was soft and silky with a moisture of its own, unlike circumcised penises which were dry and required a bit more spit before you could really go to town on the shaft.

“You going to play with that all night?” Arthur teased. The attempt at cool confidence was rather compromised by his breathless state, and she gave his cock a rough pull in revenge, smirking up at him when he bit down a gasp and bucked into her hand.

“Might take longer now, if you’re going to talk back like that.” She glanced up at his face. “Why don’t you keep your hands on the seat next to you. Don’t move them.”

He put his hands in position, first one and then the other, laying them flat on the fabric on either side of his thighs. There was a bit of a challenge in his eyes, but she felt that jolt of pleasure again through the bond and smiled, licking a line from his balls up to the head to reward his good behavior. He hummed quietly when she finally took him into her mouth; she looked at his half-lidded eyes and open mouth and felt a feral desire to take him apart piece by piece.

Concentrating, she relaxed her throat and let some of the head through, just a little since she was out of practice. The sensation nearly made her gag but it was worth it to hear Arthur cuss like a sailor and feel him start to rut against her mouth as he came a few minutes later. She kept sucking at him the whole way through, licking and nipping at the foreskin until he gently swatted her away, panting like he’d run a mile through the snow.

_“Jesus.”_

“Oh, do people still say that? Is it like a cuss word or are you familiar with the actual guy?” She wiped her hands and face against Arthur’s thighs.

“Get up here.”

She obliged, since he was such a good boy who kept his hands where he was told, and crawled up next to Arthur; five minutes later she came so hard against his mouth that her knees would’ve bucked, had she been upright. Afterward, they clung to one another--more to keep from falling off of the tiny couch and less about warm fuzzies--and caught their breath, lost in their private thoughts.

“I have to finish a few reports before I turn in,” Arthur said. He waited for her response, as though asking for permission. She shrugged, sliding off and away from him and into the bathroom, her new favorite place to go when she wanted temporary respite from his bedroom company. 

With how cozy they were getting, it probably wouldn’t be long before he’d start creeping in after her. The shower shared a shape and volume with the pencil case her mother had bought her for kindergarten, but the agony of practicality was no match for determined horniness. Hadassah was sure Arthur would find a way.

She left the bathroom with sex on her mind, whch must have drawn Arthur away from his computer like a moth to a flame, because she hadn’t laid down on the mattress for more than thirty seconds before she felt his naked body press up against her back, his cock already hard again and pressed up against her ass.

_“Very_ subtle,” she said. “You asking for seconds?”

“Only if you want to,” he said casually. Too casually.

Hadassah came to a decision and shifted around until she was on top of Arthur, pelvis to pelvis. She rolled her hips against his cock and laughed aloud this time at the way he forced himself to take measured breaths. 

“You’re too tense,” she said. “Don’t you just want to lose it a little? Get what you want and damn the consequences? Jump up on a table and fucking scream?”

“Good plan now. Bad plan later.” 

Fair enough. Hadassah lifted up and positioned herself over him, holding him steady as she slowly came back down to a sitting position. He filled her up nicely: not too much of a burn even though it had been weeks since Rhys and her vaginal muscles had a woefully short memory.

“Good,” he whispered.

“You already told me,” she said, wiggling her hips just to be a little shit. “You should read a dictionary sometime and expand your vocabulary.”

He rolled his eyes at her and groaned. “Are you going to be like this every time?”

“When I’m drunk, it’s even _worse._ I come up with my best puns when someone’s balls deep in my pussy. _”_

“Oh, hell. _Move._ ”

“Say please.”

_“Please_ move.”

She obliged. She moved slowly at first, stretching her body over his like a cat, running her hands through his chest hair, up to his face, and back down again, noting that he liked it when she scraped her nails over him hard enough to leave faint marks. He had no particular desire to have his nipples played with, but when she bit into his shoulder he swore again and clutched at her hips. 

Even with the bond, two soulmates’ initial sexual encounters were far from perfect. Oral sex tended to be a little easier since you had to to focus all of your attention on one area, but penetration was an entirely different thing. Sadly, having a bond did not transform you into a magnificent sex god. With penetration there were arms and legs to contend with, extra positions and lubrication to consider, and so on. Soulmates had to learn one another just like everyone else. Sometimes things slipped out.

“Ah, shit. Sorry, Arthur.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Here, I’ll hold it.”

And when it happened, you just put it back in and kept going. You got back on the figurative horse. Because maybe you weren’t a sex god now, but you _could_ be one day, with enough practice.

The echo chamber of soulbonded arousal was particularly handy when it came to orgasm. Sometimes you could get off just by focusing on the other person’s lust. And Hadassah came so hard she couldn’t stop herself from losing her shit and crying out a bunch of batshit nonsense that put Arthur’s linguistic repetition to shame. Unlike her, he chose not to be an ass about it. 

When she once again had enough presence of mind to peek down at him, he was looking up at her with an expression of such worshipful awe that she had to look away. And shit, she’d been so gone she hadn’t even noticed him come; the slight softening of his penis inside of her was the only indication that the fireworks had gone off. 

“Don’t ruin it,” Arthur said softly, having accurately predicted Hadassah’s next move: a witty quip designed to shatter the terrifying intimacy. 

She kept her eyes on the wall instead, allowing Arthur his fill of...whatever he was getting out of this moment. Gun-calloused hands ran up and down the sides of her body, stopping here and there to rub in slow circles. 

When he finally moved his hands back down to her thighs, she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, inhaling sharply when he met her glance with his steady, blue stare.

“Why won’t you look at me?” He didn’t sound sad or insecure. Just curious. He could feel her anxiousness but knew that she felt no regrets, no shame. There was nothing for him to truly worry over. 

“It’s too much.”

“Too much what?”

“Too close.”

“I’m inside you.”

She made to get off of him and he let her, helping her to clean up the mess she left behind on his stomach. She tucked herself under one of his arms and pressed her face against his side, relieved at being able to hide her expression away. 

“I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t like when people get too close to me too fast. I don’t like when they see things I don’t want them to see.”

“Why?” Arthur felt genuinely confused. “Isn’t that the best part of having a bond? Having someone who knows you better than anyone else?”

_Zao._ Zao and the way he knew her so well. The way he used that knowledge to make her feel like everything, or nothing. And in spite of all of that, she still wanted to believe in the world Arthur lived in, where that connection was the best thing in a person’s life. 

She wanted to live in that place with him where she could be happy and free and trust in someone again, the way she’d trusted so much in Zao even when he repeatedly let her down. She wanted to live without suspicion or fear, to _exist_ without having to think about being manipulated. 

But there was a shivering, injured animal locked away in her heart--the part of her that had been hurt and _remembered--_ and it would rip and tear at any fragile hope she’d try to build here. Maybe it would always be there. Maybe it would never leave. Maybe she would never be at peace.

She wanted to leave. She wanted to stay. She felt an instinctive urge to protect her mate from harm, but how could she when she had the potential to hurt him more than anyone else could?

“No. It’s not always the best part.”

* * *

_Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mail Terminal Maxson MX-001E_

_Fr: Proctor Quinlan QN-448PR_

_To: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_-PROJECT UPDATE_

_-materials on midwestern area previously known as Kansas forwarded to your terminal_

_-area was site of significant battles post-war as Kansas was center of experimental military aircraft at the time; midwest in general hosted numerous nuclear missile silos_

_-Colorado chapter currently scouting Middle West, recommend reestablishing regular contact as able_

_-scribes stationed in universities and relevant archives on the lookout for any relevant materials_

_-scribes are uncovering more possible information about Hadassah from before the war_

* * *

Emmett’s cat tree went up the next day, the materials for its completion having arrived on deck in the early hours of the morning. Groups of Brotherhood soldiers hovered at the entrance of Quinlan’s office as the man looked on proudly. 

Hadassah enjoyed the attention for once. She felt loose and carefree for the rest of the morning, which Arthur made note of over lunch.

He had questions about cats from before the war, and pets in general. Hadassah horrified him with tales of individuals who spent most of their paychecks on things like clothes and miniature houses for their animals. 

It must have sounded obscene to waste resources on an animal kept solely for comfort. Even the war dogs that she saw prowling around the ship had to earn their place. Emmett was the one spot of selfish whimsy. 

“Would you have a pet now, if you could?”

Hadassah tilted her head, thinking. “Only if I had the stuff for it, and a veterinarian nearby. It would be awful to get attached to something and have it die of some horrible disease that you could’ve vaccinated against for a hundred bucks in my time, you know?”

Arthur nodded. He tapped his fingers against his leg--one of his strategizing tics--and Hadassah prepared herself for the possibility of a kitten appearing coincidentally in their bed one of these days.

Their bed. _Their_ bed.

God.

* * *

Danse and Hadassah returned groundside in the afternoon, and this time the Paladin poked his head into the command deck to let Arthur know. This annoyed Hadassah to no end, but she let it go. That was one battle she wasn’t willing to fight at the moment. 

If this investigation went well, that could very well be the leverage she needed to get out of this place with Arthur’s blessing. If she slipped up or pushed too hard, she would have no choice but to make a break for the cable lines.

Pleasantly, the investigation ended better than anyone could’ve hoped. Hadassah tailed Clarke once his shift ended, with Paladin Danse staying at a distance for support. The ferals underneath the base were an unwelcome surprise but not difficult to dispatch, and she even got another set of Brotherhood dog tags to turn in, proving her eye for detail in the field. 

Clarke himself hardly believed what he was seeing when Hadassah walked into the control room he’d made a nest in. He didn’t raise a weapon at her, struggle, or demand she explain herself. Shoulders slumping and eyes glued to the floor, he merely deflated until she took it upon herself to ask what he thought he was doing.

“Feeding them, Lady Maxson. I’m sorry, Lady Maxson. You shouldn’t have to see this.”

Hadassah went to the overlook and observed the ferals below, feasting on Cram and pork ‘n’ beans like raccoons getting after a trash bin. 

“Why?”

Clarke’s face turned red as he fought some inner battle. Finally, he relented, standing up straighter to address Hadassah head on.

“It isn’t fair, ma’am,” he said. “They used to be like us. It’s not their fault they were turned into monsters. And I thought--I thought that if I distracted them with food, then they’d be safe. I don’t think they’d go after people-- _other_ people--when they’re not hungry.”

One of the ferals bit the arm of a smaller feral trying to dig its fingers into a chip bag. Hadassah said nothing for a while. A door creaked in the distance, signaling Danse’s imminent approach. She took Clarke’s hand and pressed the dog tags into his palm. He looked down at them, his eyes suspiciously wet as he trailed a thumb across the glowing metal.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, aren’t I?”

Hadassah shook her head. “Your heart was in the right place, even if your execution was lacking. I think we probably have that in common.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And listen, I agree with you. About ghouls, anyway. They’re just sick people and don’t deserve to be treated like pariahs. Ferals, on the other hand...from what I’ve seen, there’s no way to turn them back. They’re basically dead at this point, and dangerous.”

“I know,” Clarke said miserably. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I will,” Hadassah said. She heard Paladin Danse pause at the doorway of the room. Initiate Clarke looked up, resigned. 

“Listen, Clarke. I’ll come visit you in...wherever they put you. If you go with Danse and I, I’ll do my best to make sure you’re treated fairly. I think you could really help me change people’s minds about ghouls if you helped me research some stuff. I can’t do it all on my own. I’ve got some ideas...”

“Okay,” Clarke said. His heart wasn’t in it, but that was to be expected from a man thirty seconds from arrest and a court martial.

“Thank you,” he said. “For listening to me.”

* * *

_[????] Internal Network_

_SRB Terminal X6-88_

_She completed the investigation and found out about the ghouls. But rather than calling for the traitor’s execution she wants to help him--obviously a decision based on outdated prewar sympathies. With sufficient re-education the Institute will easily win her over, as her opinions seem to shift to fit the situation as well as her personal goals. She enjoys research and is easily swayed by it. It will merely require planting the right materials in the right place._

* * *

It was getting worse. She’d just be sitting somewhere, working on something, or eating food with Arthur--like now--and she’d just remember, out of nowhere, how long she’d gone without thinking of Shaun. _Again._

Was any of this even about him, anymore? Did she even _want_ Shaun? Was she a shitty, irredeemable person for even having these thoughts in the first place?

“What’s on your mind?”

“Horrible things. Like if I even want my nephew back. Because he’s a whole thing that you know about now, I guess. And I’m thinking about how easy it would be to just sleep all day and not care about anything ever again. And how often I see people around me as resources to exploit and not as actual people. And the terrible, overpowering guilt I feel about all of the above. You know. The usual.”

Arthur set down his silverware and went on a brief face journey. She watched, fascinated. 

“Well,” he said at the end of it, “at least I can count on your honesty when I ask.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just something new I’m trying out. I meant to say: ‘oh, nothing, sweetie. And how was the country club?’”

Arthur snorted. “I’d rather have uncomfortable truths than an uncomfortable lie.”

“Does the discomfort vis a vis the lie include use of the term ‘sweetie?’”

“It does, I’m afraid. I’ve never been one for pet names.”

“I’ll cross it off the list.” Hadassah poured herself another glass of wine. She’d finally convinced someone to get some tarberry cabernet from The Slog (by way of Bunker Hill, of course; she didn’t want the Brotherhood anywhere near The Slog until further notice). It was some _good shit_ and she was on her fourth glass, probably. Maybe.

“What’s next on the list?” Arthur continued.

“Shug-a-boog.”

“I am vetoing shug-a-boog.”

“Noted. But I want _you_ to call me Rat Baby.”

“I am vetoing Rat Baby on your behalf.” 

“I do not recall giving you proxy vetoing privileges. And I just want you to know. I’m _very_ drunk.”

_“Very_ noted.”

When they went to bed, he kissed her under the sheets in a lazy sort of way but didn’t pursue anything further. Whether he was tired or averse to pushing her in her drunken state, she didn’t know. What she _did_ know was that her final topic of conversation for the day was going to Ruin Absolutely Everything. Drunk Hadassah knew it in her bones, but she was nothing if not recklessly brave.

“Arthur,” she slurred. “Listen.”

“Hmm?” He was running his hand through her hair, which made concentrating infinitely more challenging. 

“I did good, right? With Clarke. I did good.”

“You did well.”

_“Nerd._ Little nerd. _Turbo_ nerd. You know what I _meant_. Don’t be a little grammar slut.”

“Jesus. You _are_ drunk.”

“Don’t talk about religion in bed. I did _good,_ okay? I’m smart and I can do thing. Things. I didn’t get sick.”

“Right…” Arthur’s face began to grow tight. Shit. He was catching on to her master manipulation plan. God damn wine. She’d sabotaged herself from the very start.

“I want to go _do_ things. I have a plan, and I can help make the Institute go away. I know people and we are working on Things. Really impressive science things for finding the Institute.”

“What kind of things?”

“I’m not telling you anything unless you let me go out there. Free information? Not happening. You’re just gonna send people out and steal all my shit. It’s _my shit._ ”

“Of course, of course,” Arthur soothed, petting her arm like he would a horse, if one existed and he had it. A beautiful, majestic racehorse. “It’s all yours. Let’s go to sleep now.”

“No. Listen. _Listen.”_

“I _am_ listening, Nora.”

“Why won’t you let me _go?_ Danse is a _great_ babysitter. He crosses his arms and frowns at all the right moments, and he is nice and patient with me even though I am not deserving of it.”

Arthur sighed. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, but he kept petting her arm and her hair.

“I like your ideas,” he said finally. “Even though I don’t always agree with you, I like hearing what you have to say. I think your plan to have Initiate Clarke research ghoulification is a good use of our resources, because it can help people and improve relations with non-feral ghouls. But you have to understand that I can’t send you out there when you’ll be in constant danger of death. It isn’t _safe_. Please believe me when I say that if you were healthy and able-bodied, I’d be more than happy you let you complete your mission with support. But that just isn’t the case.”

A sharp knife of anger worked its way between her ribs and twisted. _Able-bodied._ Zao and the other admirals hadn’t thought she was able-bodied enough for _their_ purposes either. 

“It’s not _my_ fault I get sick. I can do plenty of things even so. And you’re not supposed to make me stay here. I’ve been researching. The Brotherhood doesn’t keep soulmates against their will anymore. You haven’t done it for more than a hundred years.”

“I _know._ I do. But what happens if you’re out there and a storm hits unexpectedly, and you aren’t anywhere near a secure facility? You would’ve died if I hadn’t found you. And you trust people entirely too easily. There’s so many people out there who would take advantage of you. We’ve talked about this, Nora. I don’t--I’m not trying to trap you. This isn’t about me possessing you. This is about me trying to keep you _alive._ You haven’t even fully recovered and you’re already talking about leaving.”

She froze, clutching the mattress cover when the room started tilting. “The point is--no matter the reason--I feel _stuck_ here. I don’t want it. I don’t want _any_ of this. I don’t even want to be in this whole fucking _state._ Massachusetts has too many letters in it. Boston smells bad and I hate it. Their pizza is stupid. They got too many statues. They think they’re important because they’re old and they got that ugly broke-ass bell.”

“Do you mean...the Liberty Bell? That was in Philadelphia.” 

Hadassah felt a stinging pressure in her sinuses and bit her lip almost to the point of drawing blood. No crying. Not now. Arthur tensed in alarm when she began to sob. 

“I’m so _dumb._ I don’t know _anything._ I can’t do _anything._ I hate my _stupid_ organs. I hate that _stupid_ Kellogg.” 

Arthur put his arms around her and drew her into his chest, muttering reassuring nonsense in her ear. She let him, as grateful for the affectionate touch as she was for the chance to pretend she wasn’t totally incomprehensible and possibly having an emotional breakdown.

“I don’t _like_ it,” she moaned into his nipples. “It’s the _worst,_ the worst.”

“I know. I know.” He kissed the top of her head.

“You’re...so _fuzzy.”_

“I know.”

“Why do you have everything figured out? That’s not fair. Aren’t you mad that nature just decided shit for you without your permission? How can you be so satisfied with everything? Don’t you just want to burn it all down sometimes?”

Arthur’s chest shook for a moment. She looked up, alarmed, but he’d just been stifling a laugh. He didn’t look amused, though.

“I don’t have anything figured out, Nora. There are a lot of things in my life that are out of my control--probably most things--but you were the one constant for the longest time. Every time I tried to move on, I...just kept coming back to you. You were always there. Waiting. Sleeping.”

“Wow. You must be really fucking disappointed you wound up with me, then.” She sniffed, trying not to get snot on his chest and partially failing. He didn’t notice, or at least was too polite to mention it.

“It’s not like that. I’m under a lot of pressure, Nora. I can’t _not_ be in control. I _am_ angry, sometimes, that I couldn’t decide things for myself--I couldn’t choose my path in the Brotherhood. I couldn’t choose my soulmate. I can’t choose where I go and what I do, to a large extent--but it is what it is. I can either adapt to it, or make everyone around me miserable by being miserable myself. That, at least, I can choose.”

“Oh. Man.”

Arthur kissed the top of her head. “It’s easier to talk to you in the dark. You challenge me in a lot of ways, and I enjoy that, but it does make it difficult to get close to you. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting to know you, and then you say something or do something and I don’t feel like I understand you at all.”

“Oh. Fuck. I don’t know if I can deal with all that right now. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry. Do you want to go to sleep now?”

“Do you want a blowjob or...something?”

She felt him smile against her skin. “No. You’re so drunk you’d probably aggravate your motion sickness, and then I’d have a mess to clean up. Again.”

“Gross.”

“Exactly.”

It was hard to tell how much time passed in the dark while sober, and nearly impossible with the Slog’s finest making up a sizable fraction of her blood. She thought she heard Arthur say something else after a while, but she fell asleep before her brain cells could decode the message.

* * *

_Brotherhood of Steel_

_Proctor Quinlan’s Workstation QN-448PR_

_Notes on the Soulmate Project: the Evolution of Brotherhood Soulmate Culture_

_[Excerpt 1]_

_Letter from Roger Maxson II to Council of Elders Regarding His Enacted Chapter Policies on Soulmates_

_Brotherhood Archives Identifier 515487_

_Item Created: 2136, Spring_

_Access Restriction: Elder, Order of the Quill - Proctors, Head Scribe_

_Contributors to Authorship and/or Production of the Archival Material(s): Roger Maxson II (Correspondent), Brotherhood of Steel Council of Elders (Correspondent)_

_Extent: 1230 words (digital)_

_...and as to my “extremism,” I would like to point out that most of my accusers were born into this world and never had to watch it burn. The death of my mother, while tragic, was the catalyst that provoked my father, the first Elder Maxson and our Founder, to seek out his true soulmate. His discovery transformed the Brotherhood inside and out, ushering in an era of peace and prosperity._

_Early emphasis on releasing ourselves from the chains of pharmaceutical suppressants brought our organization out of the shadows and into the light. We are stronger bound together. Did my father not say to “bind your soulmates to you in steel to provide for their happiness and safety among us?”_

_If a few Wastelanders are brought into their true purpose under duress, I hardly see the harm in this when weighed with the benefits. Who would trade our lives of safety and abundance for irradiated poverty? They will become happy in due time._

_…._

_There have been incidents of violence, yes. Brotherhood soulmate patrols have leave to use deadly force, if necessary. to acquire lost soulmates. Yes, there have been deaths. They were regrettable. But I will not apologize for such tactics; indeed, force may be necessary in order to prove to the lost soulmate the necessity of their purpose. They_ _will_ _become happy in due time. They have no choice in the matter, and neither do we. We are all of us thus ensnared. …._

_\---_

_[Excerpt 2]_

_Final Report on ‘Letter from Roger Maxson II to Council of Elders Regarding His Enacted Chapter Policies on Soulmates’ delivered to the Council of Elders by Head Scribe H. Ames_

_Brotherhood Archives Identifier 8394726_

_Item Created: August 17, 2243_

_Access Restriction: none_

_Contributors to Authorship and/or Production of the Archival Material(s): Head Scribe Herman Ames AM-079PR (Correspondent), Brotherhood of Steel Council of Elders (Correspondent)_

_Extent: 7357 words (digital)_

_…. Roger Maxson II’s extreme viewpoints are understandable given his personal history, however. His father, Roger Maxson I, was soulbound but not originally married to his soulmate. This marriage scandalizes the modern Brotherhood member, given the emphasis we place on nurturing bonds. But one must remember that before the end of the Great War, many cultures--across the entire world--did not see soulbonds as a necessity or even as a positive._

_Furthermore, the change in the Brotherhood’s fortune happened at the same time that Roger Maxson I’s bond “reformed.” [1]_ _When Roger Maxson I’s soulmate, miraculously still alive, came into our fold, the soulmate brought with him a lifetime of experience as an archivist--experience which directly led to the forming of the Scribe Order._

_[1] [technically incorrect as it never un-formed]_

_This early focus on organization and research helped stabilize and streamline the Brotherhood’s military practices. Is it so shocking that a child, recently traumatized and grasping for control, would see this transformation and subsequently project causation?_

_I say that Roger Maxson II is an_ _understandable_ _man. But his experiences as a child do not excuse some of the more violent policies he made as Elder. His insistence that kidnappings and the occasional, “regrettable” murder were necessary practices is abhorrent, to be frank. In this letter he chooses to focus only on his father’s words where they support his campaigns._

_Roger Maxson I did emphasize the “acquisition” of soulmates, but he also prioritized choice and affection: “It is right for a soulmate to be made content. Take care that your soulmate does not waste away in sorrow for the lives they held before.” This directive was not meant to inspire force, as Roger Maxson II suggests in paragraph 8. Rather, it is meant to encourage soulbound brothers and sisters to be_ _active_ _in their relationships and not rely on the bond itself to create a happy home. All relationships are work, even relationships between the soulbound._

_Roger Maxson II’s impact, not only on the Brotherhood, but on the surrounding communities in California, is still felt today. In spite of the Brotherhood’s current official stance on soulmates, harmful myths and unfortunate ideologies remain. For decades now we have condemned the use of force in acquiring soulmates; they are to be courted and entreated, for what better way to inspire loyalty than to assure one their presence is the most desirable of companies?_

_Only soulmates in life-threatening situations are taken in without permission, and after their treatment completes we must allow them free reign. Where there is compassion, and respect, and work, and love, they will inevitably return. We cannot let fear rule over us. Not fear of loss, not fear of failure, and not fear of that which binds us together. …._

* * *

It would be _so_ easy to up and leave if Arthur Maxson was an unlikeable piece of shit. But he wasn’t. There were times when she could imagine him as a terrible person, but those times were dependent on his staying utterly still and silent so her imagination could get to work. All the other times, she was struck by how completely normal he was in nearly every way. Outside the title and responsibilities, Arthur Maxson was just Some Guy.

Hadassah pressed her forehead up against the dirty window glass once Arthur left for the day. She closed her eyes and she imagined herself in a distant future, happy with what life had thrown at her. And then she reminded herself that she couldn’t have any of that and got to work.

The first stop was Arthur’s terminal. She’d managed to send and receive messages outside the Prydwen, but one critical piece of this plan involved making some sort of connection to the Prydwen’s internal system, in case she needed to securely message anyone inside or access the databases. It was quick work for her, but incomplete. To finish the link would require a RobCo signal interchange, the ones designed to hook up roaming pip boys to larger networks. 

Fortunately, Proctor Quinlan had one sitting in a box of Random Electrical Shit his scribes hadn’t gotten to yet. He also had a Stealth Boy in a locked container. Hadassah acquired both easily enough and made her way to the workshop for some tools. 

Proctor Ingram wasn’t usually the sort to ignore shady behavior, but Hadassah’s cat tree project had had an unforeseen side effect: now people thought much less of her ship-wandering and item-filching habits. Before, it was weird. Now, it was Something Weird the Elder’s Soulmate Does, which was the same but _different_. 

Danse didn’t follow her out onto the deck. He was good about giving her space these days, even when she went outside. He trusted her. Thinking about this, Hadassah felt a twinge of guilt, punched the nearest wall about it, and immediately had Regrets. 

Then she shoved those feelings down and set up the signal interchange, because it wasn’t going to set itself up. It was another quick job; whoever had wired the Prydwen included some truly spectacular work with tech compatibility. 

She leaned over the far edge, where the cables attached, marking for the millionth time where they hooked on to the old ATC tower. It would be dangerous, but doable. Hopefully? 

Her sickness hadn’t left her in the best shape, but the cables looked thick enough to grip easily, and it wasn’t windy out. It would be fine, right? She could leave and just...finish her errands and come back when she was more ready.

More ready. More...ready. Ready. Any minute now she’d be ready.

Hadassah gripped the railing to the point of pain and crouched down, pressing her forehead to the cool metal bar. She wasn’t ready. This wasn’t a good idea. It was a _terrible_ idea. There was no reason to--

No. She just needed some more time to think. That was all. 

...Time while Shaun was wasting away in a lab somewhere, being experimented on. 

She screamed into her hands in frustration and stalked back to the nearest support beam, sitting on a box while she typed out a quick message to Codsworth. If he was nearby, he would skulk about the perimeter and wait for her signal. There. At least she’d have backup. She wouldn’t be alone. And then Codsworth could convince her to come back so she could avoid the agony of personal decision making.

And of course...it would take time for Codsworth to get here. It wouldn’t do to just up and leave. So she could wait a bit more. 

An hour passed. Danse poked his head out, saw where she was, nodded, and then retreated back inside. And then another hour passed. Danse poked his head out again, saw she was still sitting in the same position, and then came out to sit next to her.

Well, fuck. Now she couldn’t leave at all. Shame.

Hadassah looked at her Pip Boy. In another couple hours, Arthur would be wondering where she was for lunch. And that was fine. She could just leave tomorrow. Come to think of it, Zao’s most recent messages were starting to come off as rather unhinged, and it would be better to set up some kind of go-between. And she hadn’t checked in with Hancock or MacCready in a while. She could use some sage advice.

Though to be honest, while she enjoyed their company, neither were the sort to offer sage advice. _They_ wouldn’t understand what she meant if she told them the reason she felt bad was because she was starting to feel good. Hancock would just tell her to go after what made her feel best, because that was the world he lived and ruled in. And MacCready would probably break into another rant about Arthur Fu-Freaking Maxson, who MacCready despised on a personal level. Too biased, the both of them.

Danse pulled out some tools from one of his many pockets and began fiddling with a rifle mod, as was his custom. He’d also moved to the opposite end of the deck, presumably in an attempt to give her some privacy while still keeping an eye on her uncharacteristic behavior. Hadassah watched him work for a few minutes, trying to dredge up some sort of appropriate emotion for this entire fuckery. Nothing came to mind, but surely with enough zoning out she’d hit gold. 

“Hey.”

She looked up at Danse. He was still hunched over the mod on his lap, silent.

_“Hey.”_

She looked behind her and froze. That bald white guy with the sunglasses she’d seen before--where had it been, again?--was crouched in a far corner, completely out of eyesight from Danse but less than six feet from her. Before she could even open her mouth, he’d darted forward, slipped off her Pip Boy with maddening skill, activated a Stealth Boy, and vanished. The metallic _thwap_ of cables bumping against one another told her exactly where he’d gone, too.

Paladin Danse was standing, rifle already in hand with the safety off, when Hadassah turned back around to check.

“What the hell--are you hurt? Did he hurt you? _Damn_ it, how did he even--?” Danse ran to the railings and looked over, but of course by now there would be nothing to see. 

“He’s got all my _...fuck._ Sorry, Danse. I’m sorry!” Hadassah backed up a few feet and broke into a run, making her way directly for the cable supports. Danse’s head whipped in her direction and he put an arm out. Too late.

“What are you-- _shit.”_

She reached down for the cable join, took a firm hold, and flipped herself over the railing.

* * *

_[????] Internal Network_

_SRB Terminal X6-88_

_Well. This just got interesting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-game, Danse does do a swear. But he brings out Big Swear very rarely, since he is a good and proper boy. I figure watching a wasteland rat baby yeet herself over the side of a blimp is deserving of Big Swear.
> 
> Some deep, philosophical questions to consider:
> 
> 1\. How many times in horny fiction have you encountered Just a Regular Penis?
> 
> 2\. What do Hadassah and Arthur need to fix in their train wreck of a meet cute before the train may continue on?
> 
> 3\. THOTS ON QUINLAN’S ARCHIVAL EXCERPTS. I spent so much time on those istg. I do have archiving experience, so if any of my peers are out here looking at this, I see you.
> 
> 4\. Where the cinnamon toast fuck is Hadassah going now?


End file.
